lippy waits for it

the cannibal trailer park

stuffed with rice

“han' it to me! gimme!”

coal faced stinkerman

diving at a stickybun

“gimme! gimme!”

and his hand flaps at the wind

the wind tries to blow

but can only inject itself

in the free spaces between the teeth

teeth that the stinkerman tries to hone

on a tinker elf's file

tinker elf taps out a merry little tune

and the stinkerman taps along

taps an empty bottle against the ground

clack clack clack against the concrete

of the cannibal trailer park

stuffed with rice

tinker elf pulls out the stops

and the stinkerman pulls down his shorts

shows all the world what he's made of

nothing comes between him and the wind

the wind that tries to blow

but can only inject itself

tinker elf reaches over

with a platinum mallet

with a tiny tap

a tiny tap

a tiny little tap

the mallet rings a bell

and the coal faced stinkerman thinks back

thinks back to a time when he was young

when his face was pearly white

when his teeth were nice and tight

when the wind could blow

and the tinker elf

was just a story

and a song

and a melody in that

cannibal trailer park

stuffed with rice

Why, oh Why?

I – the fool.

Strung out in piles of confusion

waste-o-matic smiles

in piles of waste-o-matic dust -

dust in a huff of conversation.

The piles of confusion

came tumbling to a halt

in a winter-never-wonder

of a January freeze;

a January freeze

that made February all the colder

when a chicken bone whistle

played a merry hornpipe

and the drops of

clear,

clear,

crystal-cystal clear

chemical confusion

in a waste-o-matic grin

played heavy on the brow of life

There it was that I had to stop

and push myself away.

Tearing at my throat, I screamed

and shouted an inky ave

an inky ave,

black

black

and black as the

crystal-cystal drops

that clouded your pen

Crystal-cystal deafening

and perched on a dusty ledge

the haymaker moonbeam

let out in a windy morn

so dark that it looked

like that inky ave

inky ave

inky ave

that rattled around and

helped me tear my throat

so that my own clouded pen

ran dry.

That darkened, windy morn

was colder than any ever recorded

the science-men drooled

and rubbed their bellies

to see such a cold and frosty day.

We all knew why it was,

but we didn't let on to anyone.

The day was cold

when the fire went out,

when your spirit took leave,

kindly excused yourself,

said goodbye

more politely than can be expected.

You bowed low to the crowd,

and in silence the day grew cold.

Yours, no inky ave,

(but only light)

and I – the fool,

left to stack the firewood.