bluezy, My Baby's got a Shirt...

see I'm feelin' up the highway
yeah I'm gonna get it on
oh I'm inchin' up my own way
what a crime spree what a bomb
and she's goin' out of her way
to evade and too aplomb
but I'm gonna have it my way
snapping fingers rubbing palms
oh my baby's got a shirt
an' she's gonna put it on
if I don't preempt the outcome
if I don't show her how strong
oh my baby's got a shirt
an' she's gonna put it on
yeah my baby done got a shirt
an' she gonna put it on

what light in yonder window breaks
Juliet and she's the moon
pressed up against the window
lookin' like she's gonna swoon
the flesh is ripe the night is deep
this moment's come too soon
yeah my baby's got a shirt
an' she gonna put it on
if I don't get it together
if I can't lower the boom
oh my baby's got a shirt
an' she's gonna put it on
yeah my baby done got a shirt
an' she is gonna put it on

rainy Sunday 'toons

..Monsters

presence

Dear Occupant,
or
To Whom it May Concern:

We regret to inform you of the optimal decline
of your everloving aurora of invisibility,
it has come to our attention
and we pass along to you
the aforementioned inclination
a dilemma
hyphenated parenthetical
of utmost importance
inasmuch to say
simply and without delay
regret or spasm...
your warranty is up,
nuts are loose
toes are juiced
ears screwed on too tight
and various accoutrements of convenience
just
not
right.
Please post yourself directly
for realignment and etcetera,
signing on the dotted line
of course
and leaving amount disclosed
blank, incomplete, alphabetically transposed
for further introspection by inspectors,
namely numbers 9
& 5
who lack names origins and platelets
much as you do, you metalized hack,
respond without comment, in person
or as you please, come as you are
bring a date, but RSVP
and BYOB or smattering of grease
in a vacuum packed bag,
you never can tell,
pie plates are all the rage
and whipped cream...
but that's extra.

back to Funday Sunnies

aLiEnAnTiCs !!!

silentsoliloquy

grotesque they bob up and down on poppy stems, the tiny garden of human heads shrunken and wise rocking in the wind, retiring behind apogean petals with the waking of the moon. Their obscene grins belie a muted death, cavernous sockets look down, dragged by gravity to a dew clean perspective of river polished stones, dredged and spread convoluted like a jeweled, multifaceted bed. They curtsy nod and bump asking in their own selfless way, can we take solace in a plethora of pebbles? and answer in the only possible way, with a question, what else is there?

slow goin', but at least there's Sunday Funnies

aLiEnAnTiCs !!!