Oh, weep for Adonais—he's undead!
    And hath been, lo! these interstitial years!
Yellow and black and pale and hectic red,
    His cockney mood consumptively careers.
Upon a bubbling Hippocrene he's drunk
    And dreaming, standing tiptoe on the brink
Of the wide world that sinks (Byron's a punk)
    As love and fame to nothingness do sink.
An anguished autumn wind doth howl a HOWL
    Of abject grief that sweeps the graveyard's stones.
The sickle moon observes the downy owl
    That eats a mouse from tail to skull and bones.
Zombie Allan Poe, who's green and obscene,
Is sobbing, "Happy Birthday Halloween!"

Frisbee flies
Like a UFO.

Blue skies.

A tic-tac-toe
Of them trails
Called chem trails.

Nanoaliens hatch.

A wonky throw—
He makes the catch!

The one flower
Outside the window
Has turned to dust.

!hap

pie
e.e.
***

(13
0th)

ming
s' b
irth

day!

There once was a fella from France
Who'd dance a libidinous dance:
     He'd focus the eyes
     Of the club on his thighs,
Then dance himself out of his pants.

There once was a gal named Alvina,
A registered nurse at a gyne-
     cological practice
     Who brought in a cactus
That jumped on a naked ******.

There once was a man from Green Bay
Who made it a habit each day
     To ****** an udder
     While churning his butter,
Then go for a nap in the hay.