When everything seems to be out of order,
a
for ****'s sake
seems to be in order,

I'm thinking of taking my business elsewhere,

and if you're thinking,
'somewhere over the rainbow?'
don't
that place is crowded,

I'm thinking of a desert isle,
where
'I could while away the hours'
oh
that's there
isn't it.

Half the fun in being stunning
is not to stun,
it is to
be a ning
and fit in
everywhere you go.

***
it's
Omc
which is Omicron
to you and me.
and
doesn't that sound
twenty-sixth century?

a tad to
Zager and Evans,
if you're asking.

But we shall stand firm
even as we dissolve
into the forthcoming
night.

so what do you want
a hero?

you'll need to go elsewhere
no heroes here, only an old man
with odd socks on for luck,

but there was a time
and what a time,
**** o' the roost, that was me
maybe 1973.
I didn't walk the walk
I flew
and those who knew me
couldn't keep up.

Not so 'jack be nimble'
time has changed me
rearranged my features
now, I'm just a filler
in the movie,
a still in my own video.

Another variant
and they're closing the doors again?

it didn't work too well the last time
perhaps they should get bigger doors.

We'll all be having boosters
to boost the boosters that boosted the
vaccine,
meanwhile
they're still boosting cars in Detroit,
nothing's safe anymore.

It's all out there,
he says and he's
screaming at the stars
and it's all in here,
he says, and he's
pointing at his head.

the inner and outer universe
network, and each thread
electronically led,
being ecstatically fed
by our dreams.

he still points and screams
torn apart by the agony
of his dreams

and the network expands
as his waistline expands
and his hands try to
grasp
the meaning.

Not, should I write
but
what should I write?

In the Spring
it's all meadows,
the Summer,
about skylarks,
in the Autumn
sombre music,

but in the Winter,
in the cold
on the edge of
being old,
surfing the snowdrifts
is the only thing that lifts
my spirits.