ROSES

when the floods of blood drenched the cities and the castles turned into dust clouds the rich folk stormed the wrecks and the rubble and took the stained things to the stained beaches. the maiden came and she shot a cute wink at you and said she'd come a very very long way and she wants to tell you a story, she's gonna tell you a story of your children; they wanted power and fortune and glory and everything with a logo printed on it. a magic button started nuclear winter, a magic button with a logo printed on it. and grampa tells you about the time he went sailing and uncle says he found grampa on a coral reef. say your prayers and pick your battles. say your prayers and pick your battleship configurations cuz i'm gonna sink your grampa's sailboat. can you make a straight face like ramis? can you fight the power like hudson? can you take the fall like akroyd? can you throw a fucking party like moranis? can you make a joke like murray? can you put it all together like reitman? can you answer the phone like potts does? can you tackle a buffet like slimer? whatcha saying on that obscene phone call? whatcha doing with that unchained melody? has alec guinness taught you anything about life? did kaufman trick you into thinking you were ever right? everything is coming up roses. pick a corner tell it every little secret: your favorite darren and your least favorite grandkid, what you did when your wife was on vacation, what you said when the nazis nearly killed you. the maiden said your grampa was a fine gentleman, your uncle a right miserable bastard. what brought him there was the wrath of poseidon. what brought him down was f-8 and f-9. your face screams lonely and your hair twirls shorter and shorter every time it rains for a week or two. the light and lines that you cry from your lovely face can put out fires and burn down that former funeral home and maybe it was the ghosts trapped in the cellar away from the dance parties. do the laundry while getting double-haunted: learn about the gentle cycle and the 1890s when everything was coming up roses.

STRANGER

and all the cages they are filled with things that anyone could ever need. cross your fingers for the open mic cuz crystal's gonna make you bleed back to the beach with the fire sword. i'll cut you when you fall asleep. nothing but the best for the universe is what inspires me. and i will find you chomping at the bit for time. i won't guide you, all you'll ever do is mime. i will bind you, knowing that you will escape. you will blind me. morph into another shape. pieces of a cloth make another cloth revisiting the very thing. open up your throat for the photograph. static 'tricity won't cling. and i ain't nothing but a boomerang on the isle of misfit toys. hopefully that piece of silver tape will put me with the girls and boys.

THE WONDERFUL TUNDRA

seven million pairs of black tied polar bears will dance in the permafrost doing the waltz and the foxtrot. when the icecaps melt they'll waterski in pyramids and busby berkeley would be so proud of them i bet he'd like to personally pat each and every one of them on their backs. they'll dance on the tundra all day.

FELLED FOREST FELLED BOXER

right now let's throw down let's grab brass knuckles like a couple chumps and i'll beat you, i've got strong thetans i'm ot-3. zane's an okay guy but you gotta know blanche baker is a whore a curse an undead beast that stalks the earth, brings famine brings death brings oprah brings xenu brings doctor phil. in the last days i'll take a deep breath and look at you and you'll bawl i'll wipe a tear. the apocalypse is just a hearty laugh and a good cry. lachrymology, it's got a good ring and an awful bite. i'll bite if you bite. right, cry like a baby with a litebrite. james caan in misery. blanche baker she lives in misery. strap in, hyperspeed bumblebee go fell this tree for me. felled market, felled life, felled forest, felled boxer, felled uncle sam. grab the gong and wind up and gong this fucker out. get boos and get applause and get laughs that vibrate spinal cords like unknown comic did.

BURNING HOUSE MARKET

an odd man lives right down the block, i've had a mingle or two with him. he peddled me a burning house and i found new neighbors in the flames. they sounded like a heavy wind, tornadoes ripping me apart. i coughed up blood and i laughed at myself and i burned and burned and that odd man moved somewhere out west way back in 1978. i heard he bought a sinking ship to watch something die for a price. that yacht was 39 feet long. he took it out for one last cruise. they say the captain goes down with the ship and i laughed and laughed and i hear he haunts those shipyards now (everybody's talkin bout it) the sailors have another ghost (spectres phantoms banshees spirits) i tend to lurk around my grave (everybody's talkin bout it) one glance at my face and they run (faster than a speeding bullet train). i'd like to form a band with you, caterwaul at the gates of hell. we'd call ourselves the sinking ships and light up the room like a burning house. they say these things are meant to be, too fatalistic for my taste cuz when his children saw his ghost they cried and cried.

FURLONGS

and it's another harebrained scheme that makes us cry and makes us lie about our perpetual motion machine and alchemy still has its charm but not without a great deal of harm to your fellow man and everyone who ever stands in his way and what does he want but a handshake a lunch date and a bit of masking tape on his face to scrape off when he loses the race. and place it all on lucky dan or his curses twin cuz they'll both end up in the same place anyway cuz they're out for blood on layaway. each a little more than they would ever bargain for but even horses want to be dracula now and again.

THE BAZAAR

in and out of the volcano, it makes a lovely nickname. out of bounds and fenced off from the dregs who i believe are nowhere near aptly named. when the eruption comes i'll be far away and running as my legs break apart into jigsaw puzzle pieces that some hooligans can put together upside down and inside out. the good little children are on their way to the faire with lights and buzzers and bells clanging inside the volcano, it makes for a lovely concert and it's broadcast over and under and in and out of the airwaves and into the overworked skulls of the dregs who i believe are nowhere and nothing but a thought in the undersized brains of the carnies scamming those good little children who wanted nothing more than an oversized toy to bring home and toss into the volcano with a hundred thousand piece puzzle of my legs and lava makes for a lovely massage for overused muscles and undersized tendons while chaperones patrol the edges to be sure their little children don't breathe in the fumes in and out of the volcano.

THE IDLE RICH

and did you hear the crowds scream for their lives? and did you hear the court when it went down? and watch the actuary take the stand. and did you see the dignitary turn his tricky life around? from the politics you crush and from the politics you scream and from the politics ingested with a gulp of clotted cream that the dignitary left under the lantern at his desk all the while all your dreams in single file. electric fenced in from your broken dreams and next of kin, the muses sing of laughing stocks while mobsters learn to lindy hop. the actuary rests under the raven at his desk all the while idle rich in single file. when the mobs of mobsters ate themselves they had tommy gun smoke on their breath. will we ever take it to the streets? will we ever take that scenic route again? in the future everything is made of bone. in the future the actuary's shown a lot of false figures, far too many false figures. when you watch your figure you have got to figure the dignitary is so light and limber he'll lift the darkened court and sort the mobs from the mobsters poisoned livers and a lot of false figures while he dreams of trees that walk in single file on their roots like wooden tentacles like a spider made of oak or pine or an octopus that's chiseled out of cedar, he can take the scenic route this time.

I KNOW

yes o yes we found the path of the wounded soldier who's taking his bath in the mud with the pigs with strangers and brothers in line with the lovers in knots with each other. i found the harmonica that slid from its sheath, put the shiny cold metal against my new teeth and the silver box whistled a melody sweet as the camouflaged choir arose to their feet. they sang: do you know if you'll grow? we hope so. o i know. o i know.