It is nestled deep inside the fertile
Shenandoah Valley.
There is a river that runs amok
like a rabid, winded wildcat in
the shadows of temptation.
And then there’s a back-country
woman that just won’t leave my
hesitated mind.
Taking time
to worry all about her,
risking heartache
to forever go
without her—
it seems like such an unfair penance,
like the result of prison’s popular
undeserved sentences.
Getting by without a proper windshield,
it’s starting to look as if my drummer
really is too far off the mark.
Wishes to again cross that princess on
that old and dusty road.
In the end it’s a crime that, quite
simply, has no motive.
And I’m paying my sentence daily for
being a prince—and not the most
handsome toad in the land.

I’m not sure that I’ll
ever know why,
but I just got shot with a
bullet from a butterfly.
If you could’ve seen
that look in her eyes,
you too would know that
it was no disguise—
a killer butterfly.
I’m not certain if it
was very wise to
get so close and
roll the dice
toward this butterfly.
I wasn’t aware that it
wouldn’t play nice.
Such beautiful wings that
were made to entice—
my heart flutters by
that **** butterfly.

I don’t know how to even get you there.
Don’t really know you, but it seems so unfair.
But if I could have your smile just one night—
a single, solitary, everlasting night.
You could call me the pilot light that would
heat the chill way deep inside your stove,
way far away
down at Cherry Grove.
Take me to the place inside my dreams
at Cherry Grove.
Lead me to the time of our life
at Cherry Grove.
Just one more thing that I need to know:
Will you want to go?
I will help you to believe a dream,
a reverie to see—
at Cherry Grove.

Confrontational,
dude’s really quite sensational,
but there’s very little matter
found inside his dome.
Confrontational—
it’s the opposite of beautiful.
Then again, he never worries
about whether he’s attractive.
Confrontational—
really not that calculable;
however, he always seems to
tip his very ****** hand.
Confrontational—
not quite the same as sensible,
but he is usually the one that
tends to buck the norm.
Confrontational,
doesn’t think that he is beatable;
nevertheless, he who hands him his
lunch has other things in store.
Confrontational—
it’s the converse of lovable,
yet some tend to insist that this
is his fancy way of flirting.

Enter—the transitive nightfall
of diamonds.
?There are crop circles dancing
in a wave on Neptune,
with corn rows gleaming from
the man on Mars.
Tail feathers toss toward a
flute near Venus.
Fly me like a rainbow
to the nearest star.
Sirius B
has nothing for me.
Anunnaki women want
to dig my scene.
Don’t take me seriously;
I’m bluffing like a rookie
with a pair of queens.
Moon Unit lands with a
Zappa on Pluto.
Yoda on Saturn
plays steel guitar.
Moses rides in on a
doggone quasar.
Captain Trips sleeps
by a medicine jar.
Sirius B has
something for me.
Hot Nibiru babes try
to make my dream.
Don’t greet me furiously.
I’ll drop you like a comet
heading to the east.
Exit—the transitive nightfall
of diamonds.

I am an altar boy inside the Church of
Continuous Wasted Opportunities.
Smell that pungent incense?
It is most definitely all that it seems to be.
This God’s gift to mankind is what the three
wise men were really trafficking—bringing
forth a dank Exodus unto the Savior’s parents.
They didn’t inhale the serpent’s lure, of course.
Rejoice, one and all, across the land!
Hallelujah, all ye indigo children of the desert!
Now, a reading from the Book of Wardo,
verse four, passage twenty:
“And it was told that the ancient Aryana region would
offer up such magical wonderment, derived from the
sacred Kush bush, assisting the holiest disciples who
prefer a mystically passive respite—for these blessed
aficionados represent the completely frazzled and yet
cautiously chosen few.”

I’ve been oh so cold
for oh so long,
fragile inside but
I seem so strong,
so fat in the head
but I look so lean.
I love putting out the fire
with some gasoline.
Dressed to the nines with
clothes that are ragged,
a butter knife was dulled
by a spread that was jagged.
Rising from the milk, let me
show you my cream.
First I’ll put out the fire
with some gasoline.
At one time so molten it
seemed I was on fire,
gained the control but
soon lost my desire.
I meant to be nice yet
I gleam when I’m mean.
I’ll just blame it on more
heat from my gasoline.

Things didn’t turn out to be the way that
I thought they really would be.
Often times, and more than not, they’re not
done the way that they should be.
It’s approaching that time when I move my
old mountain—this fact is most certainly true.
It’s time that I carve that big old mountain
that is blocking my one and only view.
My fifteen minutes are still on the way—
but coincidentally, I just might need twenty.
You say that there are no silver linings,
but touches of grey are surely plenty.
With time of the essence and all in a hurry,
I’m simmering the meat for the great big stew.
I believe it’s time to move that old mountain,
the one that blocks my incredible view.
Bulldozers, trucks, and backhoes not needed—
I’m thinking it will only require my hands.
For once in my life I’ll go to the source,
the untapped one that even I can’t stand.
So as I tunnel deep while digging in the dirt,
it’s time to find soil that bleeds all blue.
No better time to move that **** mountain—
you will be glad when I’m rid of it too.

Can I borrow some sugar?
Said, my puppy’s gone missin!
If you need some ears,
I’m the one that’ll listen
You’re the best thing to ever hit this town
When I saw ya movin’ in,
I really did want to help ya
If you want a good ride, you
can call me Helter Skelter
You’re the best thing to ever hit this town
Now there’s no chance in Dodge
that I will ever turn city boy,
especially when I found myself a brand-new toy
Now it’s time to enjoy!
Well howdy, new neighbor
I’m so **** glad to meet ya
I’m not like your ex, who
always tried to defeat ya
You’re the best thing to ever hit this town
I will send you to heaven
by the way that I treat ya
And just like my God, it’s
every day that I’ll need ya
You’re the best thing to ever hit this town
Now there’s no chance in Dodge
that I will ever turn city boy,
especially when I found myself a brand-new toy
Now it’s time to enjoy!
So I’m washing my truck,
do you need yours cleaned?
You can be the buffer and
I’ll be the sheen
You’re the best thing to ever hit this town
So, on the weekends down here
we all like to party
We’d love you to join us;
you can be my “shorty”
You’re the best thing to ever hit this town
I said you’re the best **** thing
to ever hit this town!

If a mockingbird went
and mocked me
while flying
just past
the speed of sound,
is he now
considered
to be
going about town
somewhere
in the neighborhood
of
Mach
Three?

People often refer to me
as a total Jack Ace.
I just tell them that, in fact,
I’m more like a rabid K-9.
Don’t mind the foam in my mouth.
When the king goes a floppin’
don’t even bother knockin’
Numbah nine.
Numbah nine.
Your tens just lost their
perfect shine, I’ll
soak you up just like
Brawny
cleaning wine.

Really used to have it on the ball.
Really used to have it on the ball.
No longer do I roll along.
Looks like I had a fall.
Really used to have it on the ball.
Bridges that I used to cross—
now I just can’t go.
They were closed so long ago.
I’m always the last one to know.
Really used to have me a shine.
Really used to have me a shine.
I don’t want to twinkle now,
even though I am so bright.
Really used to have me a shine.
Bridges that I used to cross—
now I just can’t go.
I’m always the last one to know.
Really used to travel; now I don’t.
Really used to travel; now I don’t.
I’m afraid to drive around
with such a heavy load.
Really used to travel; now I don’t.
Bridges that I need to cross—
I know I’ll find that road
that is never closed.
I won’t be the last one to know.

A drive-by piercing with a lemon going haywire
Some day-old sushi seen floating in a milk shake
Biplanes soaring on a river made of goldfish
Hamsters running like a maggot being stepped on
T-Birds flying on a highway made of spike strips
A sleeper hold keeping pleasure from the culprit
High-speed boats with Bond at the Olympics
A Cheshire cat that is famous for his slow wit
A hands-free call using carrots as a pitchfork
Motel 6 giving buckets full of sunshine
A loser shakes when he’s calling for a train wreck
Two horned-toad dogs seek pleasure from a princess
Pineapples dance on a table made of tall grass
Swimming pools run like the nostrils of a cokehead
Lawnmowers chase televisions made of chocolate
A headrest pops like a package full of mayonnaise
Full moon falling like a stock that’s made of pennies
Some ring-toss games using members as a target
Horse-drawn buggies have turtles for a driver
Captain Crunch cracks three teeth with his product
Unicorn strippers charge nothing for a snow cone
A fig tree shoots his rifle like a marksman
Time-lapse photos lend credence to a journey
A night jog leading to the starting of a win streak
Cotton ***** fighting like the heart of a palm tree
Rabbit holes filled with a rocket made of red glare
Alien red giants just as sure as I am breathing
A high-speed rail system travels without leaving
Lamborghinis resting on a bed of melting ice cream
Then there’s a cuckoo clock riding on a white mink
I saw a cowboy yesterday atop a pile of hay
Leaches lurking everywhere really like to play
Red newspaper taxis burn at the pole in June
Hearts of gold at harvest time, hear my drum in tune
Playing in the band was my only decent goal
Rake, a shovel, and a pick dig working with a ***        
Prince without a pauper will rise from down below
Hot tamales drop like hail the radar never showed
Squids sign a new record deal using their own ink
Octomom wants it all; such ***** I’ve never seen

Pock-faced giant that tip-toes about.
It’s the reason that I howl,
there can not be a doubt.
First it’s happy-faced,
then sad-faced.
Between them, one eye opens wide.
Neither calm, cool, nor collected.
Inhibitions will soon subside.
It’s a cheese ball,
it’s a phony,
it’s the reason that I will bark.
First it’s smirking, and
then it’s lurking, and
soon to disappear in the dark.
It seems as though it’s cavernous.
It’s thought to be too hazardous.
But, may the buyer soon beware:
if you don’t go ahead and
purchase some land, soon enough
you will be pulling your hair!

I’m not feeling all that well, my friends.
It’s been that way forever.
You could see the clearest of days;
I would see stormy weather.
The doc said that there’s nothing we can do.
He said, “Just blame it on the low dopamine
and the serotonin blues.”
Now some pills will make it all better;
others will make it much worse.
It feels like I’m in a witch hunt
and everyone else threw the curse.
I really could use me a broom; this is true.
I’ll just get away from the low dopamine
and the serotonin blues.
I just can’t get out of bed today when
it feels like I just jumped in.
With this little game of counting sheep,
you know that I just can’t win.
The mathematician will be retiring soon.
He has a bad case of the low dopamine
and the serotonin blues.
The hours—they turn to days.
The days just turn to weeks.
A squirrel just had his nuts drop.
You can bet it’s one of the meek.
Whatever sound, it really was in good tune.
Perhaps it was the low dopamine
and the serotonin blues.
It’s time to get the oil changed—
getting thicker deep inside.
If I get a few more things fixed up,
I’ll have me a real fine ride
with a radio inside that ride just for my crew,
one that plays my low dopamine
and my serotonin blues.
So the ambulating bandleader quit.
I think that he’s still on the mend.
He claims that bad-boy poetry could
lead to a worldwide trend.
All agree this cat has way overpaid his dues.
It’s only the low dopamine and the serotonin blues.

i have become a
declining
buck that
still wants
to make some good
old-fashioned doe
in this economy
anything is
a ray of
sunshine
my standard
and poor’s have
been looking up lately
snoop dogg and
dow jones want
to give me
some extra
pointers on how
to close the
deal
on some
fine dime
brizzles
this stimulus
package
has made me a
rising buck again

Officer Feddup, meet the new rookie, Hadditt.
You two will ride together now.
I paired you two because I felt that your personalities were
similar and that you will click well for some reason.
It’s something that I see every now and then with some
guys that I team up together in the field.
So tidy it up, you two, all right?
The commissioner is coming in later on, so get ready for
roll call, and don’t forget to shine those shoes—or else!
So, do I make myself perfectly clear?
The most important thing now is that nothing changes.
Stay safe, and please, not too many maple bars or quick
naps behind the Walmart on Washington, hmmm?
That’s what you said last time, Feddup!

She’s heading to the cabinet for another run
through the field of dreams—or so it seems.
She’s been dipping into the till;
kind of hippie tripping right beside the still,
been running through the mill—just like
Jack was chasing Jill
up the road,
up the road,
then down the road that never seems to end.
It always has that unforgiving bend.
Good thing that I am not her friend, because
she would find her way into my cabinets;
she would crawl inside my cabinets,
take the tractor for a nice little plow.
Oh, so predictable—just like a cartoon mouse
rambling along through the rest of my torn house
to all my other cabinets,
to all my other cabinets.
Now she’s heading to my favorite secret spot.
Does a basic-entry sweep like I was always taught.
Pharmers’ daughters don’t make for nice friends.
I just need my cabinets until the very end.
Shouldn’t friends know when to say when?

Well, gentlemen, it all came together in the end there as
you will see when you study the game film later on. You
will notice that we controlled the line of scrimmage during
the entire second half, which is what turned the whole thing
around after falling behind. The way that we mixed it up on
offense, there was no telling where we were going to attack
from. That is what we have struggled with all year long. We
have been inconsistent, to say the least. But I’m sure that you
would all agree that we are starting to jell at just the right time.
Now, after a rough start to the season, it’s on to the playoffs.
Now is when we really need to focus, or it will be “one-and-out”
time. I can guarantee you one thing and one thing only. This
club has yet to reach its full potential. If we can just bang on all
four cylinders from here on out, then we might make a pretty
****** good run at this puppy. Frankly, I’m looking forward to
the challenge; I know that our guys are. They’ve worked their
butts off all year long. Forget about the record. I’ve never been
a real big fan of statistics. There are other factors involved at this
point in the season. It’s been a pleasure, folks. It’s been a long
time coming, and I am sure that this will not be our last rodeo.
Or is it last song and dance? Well, you know. We’ve got more
bulls to ride, and this is going to be like the Calgary Stampede
now. It’s time to saddle up and to man up; that’s all. Giddy up.
Punch them doggies and call in the cavalry. We have arrived!

Scrapers will no longer scrape.
Fighters soon to lose the short fight.
Pilots are forced to surrender control.
Snakes on a plane will bank into a roll,
a scene that really no longer is scenic.
Leaders still read while getting a scare.
Huge landmarks that I swear were once there,
bridges in shortage are counting the tolls.
Dust that eventually will never be settled,
liquid support that used to be metal,
big bad crude that never was good—
things impossible suddenly could.
Answers quickly try to be drummed.
Future conflicts guaranteed to be won,
particles blocking our UV death sun,
days become decades and turkey is done.
Brave individuals are no longer bold.
Families’ histories are quite often told,
a baby’s bottle empty with no one to hold.
Government figures tilted but somehow sold
parades in protest with a circus in town.
A tiger got out, but why can’t he growl?
Seems that the cat’s got somebody’s tongue.
Another channel covers son after son,
numbers mounting, but not the right ones.
Cabbies still nose their thumb after thumb,
training centers destroyed one after one.
We should’ve just played “Drop the **** bomb!”
Fear is good, and of course good is feared;
it’s the only thing that drives us way over here.
Just like the Bible, it’s mostly made up.
The supersonic jet has just hit a rut.
The dirtiest of bombs versus our Smith and Wesson.
“Come on gang, why would you even question?”
Like death and taxes—there’s none that’s more sure,
but then there’s the free upcoming history lesson.
“Ain’t gonna do it” acting just like his pop.
This rancher really means it when tossing the slop.
“Still can’t find him—he’s with boys in Brazil.”
What’ve they done lately to lighten the till?
It’s time for the Allies to storm up this hill.

There’s a favorite culinary dish in town;
it’s known as the synapse shish kebab.
It’s high in protein as well as fat, and it comes
with a garlic-infused broccoli rabe,
available with a choice of couscous or rice.
The palate will most likely be enticed, just like
another common John who swears to us that he
again has done absolutely nothing wrong.
It pairs nicely with an eighties chenin blanc,
gray matter that’s grilled to sheer perfection,
smoked all day, and is guaranteed satisfaction,
seemingly like an old, rambling rolling stone.
The lights are on—but nobody’s buying homes.
An opera singer that is deaf to certain tones,
this is definitely not regal crumpets and tea—
“heart-healthy nutrition,” all our medics agree.
There’s a new critically acclaimed dish around;
it’s the slow-roasted synapse shish kebab,
moderately priced, and portions are family style—
passed-down secret recipes from west of the Nile,
and also numbers that won’t make your wallet sob
like a big, bad, dark, overly loaded cloud.
Give it a try, and then shout it out loud:
synapse shish kebab!

Hey, I already told you that you were a little bit crazy.
What did you think—that I was completely nuts?
Come on, Cashew, and shake that walnut-sized brain of
yours, and then we’ll try to put together a decent menu.
Still, I ought to kick you in those itty-bitty sunflower seeds,
those ones that you claim to be your source of protein.
Hey, Macadamia Breath, accidentally lose the ******* hula
dancer and then fire the impending search-and-rescue party!
Your tropical trail mix was no good for each other.
You need a vacation from this deserted island, Captain Crunch.
Go down south and get yourself the businessman’s special.
You know—some old-fashioned brazil nuts.
Yeah, that’s the two-tickets-to-paradise, for sure.
Fool, you really do need to buff up the old almond.
Do I need to open up the **** aluminum lid for you?
You’ve been stuck inside this assorted, mixed can that you
try to refer to as an extra bedroom for nearly nine months.
Get out and take in a little hike and bike
right after you do the wake and bake.
Maybe you should go slow roast yourself at the beach a little.
Why don’t you go to the mountains and try to become one of those
pine nuts that end up in all of those overpriced health cereals?
Hey, Snickers, those dank trees really are beautiful, you know.
Would you quit acting like a frikkin’ flax seed already?
Just admit that it’s almost payday, for criminy sakes!
You pathetic Mister Peanut, you.
Please, Saint Chestnut, give this completely lost consumer strength
from high above store aisle number nine.
Number nine.
Number nine.
Number nine.
Listen to me, Nutt Sack, will you shake those tiny little beer
nuts that no one can seem to stomach anyway?
First of all, they are becoming way too stale just sitting around here,
so if you continue to wait any longer, they will petrify—and then we
will eventually be forced to call you teeth-breaking Corn Nuts!

So I’ve been praying a bit as of late.
I’m not a real member of any particular
denomination; at the present time,
I pray to: “to whom it may concern.”
Not sure of his name—
Actually, I suppose it could be a her.
Sorry, Gloria Allred.
Let’s see there’s God,
there’s Buddha,
then there’s obviously Harry Potter.
There’s always Eric Clapton,
especially in the sixties and seventies.
There’s Pablo Escobar’s legend.
There’s Christ the Savior.
My ex calls the mighty one Yahweh.
I might refer to him as Yogi,
or is it yoga?
Wait—I meant Yngwie Malmsteen.
There’s d-lysergic acid, courtesy of Owsley.
Then there’s always Tai Chi.
It’s whatever you want to call it in order to
center yourself in this slightly slanted world.
I need to pick one of the above, because I
really am dragging my feet at this point.
Any one of my friends would agree that the
bottoms of my shoes appear to be charred.
Holy friction burn, Batman!

come one, come all
really going to have a ball
come here, come there
come before you sit in my chair
come in, come out
if you come, let’s hear you shout
come once, come twice
do it now—that’s my advice
come to work, come to play
come on, ladies,
do it twice today!