Song

The meteoric rise of the Elf Queen is well-known,
well-known!
to all the scholars at the College.

And of the story of her demise all are apprised:
it's common knowledge.
Common knowledge!

Oh, surpassing sad is the Elf Queen's tale--
it wasn't that she was lazy.
She ran after an errant quail and
tripped over a daisy.

She tripped over a daisy!

God's second thoughts

Because I did not see you at the store
I bought only a few seeds. Then I walked
to the paths by the river where the thin
natives scrape out a living, fishing when
the need moves them. I didn't see them there--
their huts were empty--I guess they were in
hiding, but what harm would I do to them?
I wanted to drop some seeds in the midst
of their bleak habitat though chances were slim
something--what I don't know--would take root,
sprout, and--for good or ill--grow. I took them
from the bin that said: "Seeds, not much good, old
+ what kind uncertain." Don't worry though!
While they could well be seeds of destruction,
I kept them in my pocket, unused, dry,
not wanting to screw with the perfection
of what we'd set in motion years ago.

Triumph over an Elf

I played golf with an elf and I beat him.

Cat Food

We buy our cat food where Michelle and Barack buy their cat food!

Two thoughts

Let go, let Google.

+++

Talking to myself, I realized I was the best chimpanzee in my group.

Beware, houseplants!

Beware, houseplants! I've heard what you're saying
behind my back, they'll be no more playing
tricks on me, trying to put ticks on me
and pursing smirking, greenish lips at me--
"We're only plants, we mean no harm," you cry,
but spend a night or two--or three!--outside,
you'll wish that you'd behaved like civil plants
and, if you had, I'd take you to the dance
tonight, but no! bad houseplants should know it's
time out for plants until further notice.

As important as sunlight and water
is the need for all plants to be proper.

Art Song

I would like to Xerox a portion of your gnome,
though by no means the whole thing for I am too often prone
to take things to extremes.

Yes, I'd like to photocopy a segment of your dwarf--
and, lifted from life, just a portion will suffice.
Just a little portion of your dwarf would be nice.

Disco Gnomes?

--No, these are the gnomes who traffic in body parts and '70s memorabilia.

--Body parts from the 1970s too?

--Yeah, from the '70s; everything from the '70s.

--Fuck, those are those gnomes?

--Yeah. Disco gnomes. '70s gnomes.

Two for Price of One

Ward Churchill Versus the Elves

He was a taboo-smashing fugitive man-beast and the elves
who chased him would not relent.

The knowledge of their blood lust propelled him--
no good in even trying to repent.

++++

A Salute to Smells

Would you like to smell my loafers, Juliana?
Then, let's take a whiff of the cabana...

I am the lord of smell and I bring you smell fire.

The Jonestown Dilemma

If I don't drink the Kool-Aid, will I be tossed out of the cult?

I said it first

If my clothes work, then I don't have to.

Haiku, timely

Now that gay marriage
is legal, I've decided
to marry myself.

Dismantle

There is this certain thing you can do with objects and machines.
You can lay them out neatly and play loud music near them.
And if there are any things wispy on the objects, they might move
in the music. Then, if the music stops, all is as quiet as they.

A printer, a coffee maker, and a toaster go nicely together,
all plastic and white with some metal and glass. When they
are disconnected from wall sockets, they are at their most passive.
The plugs look like they do not know where to go.

Driven in a car, they rattle a bit. If the car is white too, that’s the best.

I can imagine thousands of appliances, never used, glistening
in orderly rows on a street or a parking lot. Their disuse would be more
than appearances for appearances sake, but, Boris, imagine this, that
all the models of vacuum cleaners, from the very inception of the
machine, are laid out, straight and, of course, clean, along a
straight, sumptuous sidewalk and overshadowed by trees
denuded of all leaves. Further, that the clouds above, puffy, pure,
move regally, in a parallel line. That would be something, oh,
indescribable to me, your Natasha.

Neighborhood art show

The only thing better than not doing
something well is not doing it at all
and the next best thing to that is screwing

it up completely so that it does not
come off as even a half-assed attempt
put forward by a half-wit or wing-nut

like when someone who, for instance, can't paint
sets out with best intent to sketch a scene
in oils but since Grandma Moses he ain't--

to employ slang--my pet orangutan
could do better; you get the picture, I
hope: it's embarrassing, though not the same

as what results from efforts of dabblers,
hobbyists, and amateurs who never
fail to miss the mark. These vain mishandlers

get it just a little bit wrong. So who
will tell them that a failure's a greater
failure to the extent it comes close

in the same way nearly great orators
are worse than verbose? Where's the pompous,
self-loathing, hectoring poetaster

who'll play the role of the disparager?

Relax

The great god Relax rose up from his tub
roaring, "Oh rub a dub rub a dub dub;"
I toweled the aqua droplets from off
his back and stained the clean white towel blue.
The towel was ruined and I shook that
another job was botched by my own hands,
but coffee was brought by serenest guys
and oh to be like these, I thought, like these
quite calm, and followed them then to lawns where
the towel dried white again on my arm.