Monday, July 8, 2002

A little dog choked on a draidel, a ladle, a can of beef stew and a wicker kazoo.

His owner, a loner from Kalamazoo, in a wrath drew a bath that he filled up with glue. The soup of white goop he stirred with an oar and what’s more he added the dog and a log and a piece of the floor. He stirred it with vigor and vim and panache, until he was spent and broke out in a rash.

The concoction he auctioned in a giant condom as art, except for a quantity he wheeled away in a cart and fed into a gun made for frosting a barge, the work was exhausting but the payoff was large. The gun, when done, was loaded for bear, and he shot the whole mixture into Bono’s hair.

Bono y mano they boxed on the pier, as Bono thought guano had been dumped in his ear. And though in the row, Bono thought his chances fair, he fought a lot worse with a nurse in his hair. And a canary and Jerry Saint Michael Saint Clair, a tuba and scuba gear all stuck to his hair. A tourist, a jurist, a ski and a scone, a plate of hot pancakes and a man who lived all alone, so many things stuck to Bono’s wet hairdo, that he had his ass kicked back to Kalamazoo.

And when he got there such a fuss was made, the locals and yokels thought it some kind of parade. A Bono ass-kicking-glue-covered-parade, with battalions and stallions and pink lemonade, and twelve birds exotic and others aquatic and a robot that could curse in French, some plate-spinning Cubans and ducks eating Reubens and a stunning gold-plated park bench, the mayor and layers of sedimentary players who honked out a tune flat as figs, and pigs wearing wigs dancing Arabian jigs with undoubtable intentions untoward, all had the luck to be quite well stuck to Bono’s now overstacked gourd.

It took a Nobel Prize winner and a sea of paint thinner to free the whole crowd from the mess. Not to mention an army of lawyers dressed up as Tom Sawyers to explain the whole thing to the press.

And that there your honor, Judge Franklin O’Connor is all that I have to report.

And now you can see quite
with benefit of hindsight
why I was today late for court.

Space Pioneers
They would’ve rafted down the river like gall stones in a liver, carefree as retards on a home-fashioned raft, except that they lived down the river three blocks and a sliver from a factory that made cheese dust for Kraft.

Do Not Disturb
Combustible rustable grannies come marching in waves from the caves with their zinc eyebrows arching, in tunics with tonics electric on their lips, cities of biddies descend on our ships.

Dinner Date
Swizzle-stick me in a jar, mastodons in foreign cars. Oh what lovely buggering bubbly sex shows on starships tonight!