Scribbles-
These words,
These words,
These lines-
They're my scribbles:
But as far as scribbles-
These scribbles-
It just goes to show,
Not all the mad are inside: You know?

So you slide,
I slide,
We slide...

Oh, troubled soul!

And yet how I know,
I cannot disappoint those- Yes? / No?

No! No! No!
For I must remember
Like in Bedlam of old,
How they, the mad-
Were forced to wear ghost clothes...

And so like a carnival ride:

The whole world,
It slowly begins to slide...

It slides! It slides! It slides!

Proving as I've already said,
Not all the mad are only inside:

And that's not even counting
The ones that are dead...

Oh, no, no, no, no:

But-
These lines,
These lines,
These words-
Are scribbles:

My scribbles-

These scribbles-

My scribbles-

These scribbles-

Scribbles.

Scribbles.

Scribbles.

Subsequently the alchemist:

1963-

And a time traveler
Can take a walk
Back into the past...

Dallas- Dallas-

Time slowed down,
But at the same moment-

It was moving way too fast:

In music alone-

The Beatles
Hadn't arrived yet:

And Elvis
Was no longer
Such a sure bet.

But everybody loved
Watching TV-

It was America- 1963.

And well,
To me,
In looking back
Into the history-

It wasn't that
There was all that much
About Kennedy:

But it seemed somebody
Was really playing hardball-

An early version
I would suppose,
Of "Shock and Awe."

And there was just something
About Lee Harvey Oswald:

That just didn't feel right-

And the feeling
Continues on into the now:

Historically-

If not some conspiracy...

Just like a merry-go-round.

But it was America- 1963.

Yes, it was... America.

America-

America-

America- 1963.

If you have heard voices-
Maybe in a clatter?

Maybe in a sense-

Like glass,
That seems to shatter?

Technically I mean-

As if waking suddenly:
From a dream?

If so-

Then what are the words
Heard recently?

And do they ever mention me?

That is-

If you've heard voices:

That is-

Of course...

If you've really heard voices:

Even if they're all
Speaking
Of different things-

And not a single one,
With another-
Appears to agree:

Out of tune-

And out of key-

And you don't know
Which one to believe...

If you've heard voices:

And have you heard voices?

Have you?

You're reading it now-

Maybe not heeding it:

But if you're here,
And your eyes are
Scanning it-

Then you're reading it now.

And the question should arise:

"What am I reading?"

Well, of course,
If it's this-

Which it must be,
If you're reading it now:

It's now what you're reading...

So in essence-

What you're reading,
Is me more or less
Simply repeating-

You're reading it now.

Her mental contents,
And delivery-

She's usually
As nice as she can be-

And her beauty
Makes me think of
All these various activities...

She's spy prototype robot girl, number 5.

She's got lasers in her eyes.

She's very specialized.

Don't know
How many more
They'll make of her-

But upon all missions
She's assigned
To come along with me on-

She's always quite a surprise:

She's the latest in advanced-
Espionage technology,
In this year of 2175.

She's spy prototype robot girl, number 5.

And she's much improved
Over numbers 1, 2, 3, and 4-

It's almost as if she's actually alive-

She has a learning program,
As well as a total range of
Downloaded emotions-

Even going as far as telling you-
She'll **** you, if you ever make her cry:

Giving you fair warning,
I suppose-

That she is after all:

Spy prototype robot girl, number 5.

Mrs. Browning's
Addiction to *****-

And did
The mere thought of it-

Just to get a little more of it-

Have her heart beating
Just like a big bass drum?

No doubt-

But that she would observe
Punctiliously
The taking of it-

Quickly getting the shakes for it-

When she didn't get some...

That is...

Mrs. Browning's
Addiction to *****.

Dreams of duration-

Truth defined?

Or simple generalizations-

And what goes on within
The spirals of your mind?

Whether facts
Or falsehoods-

Or idealism-

Or hallucinations-

Or the deduction
That comes from
An abstract association:

Like the difference
Between winter
And summer sunshine.

Yet there is experience-

And hopefully,
Somewhere down the line-

A bit of common sense.

Fragmentation and multiplication-

It's not really nothing more
Than a series of symbols
In isolation-

Regardless of what is said
By those
Who have simply taught
The triumph of the imagination.

It involves
A lot more than that,
Or watch me
Pull a rabbit out of my hat-

Especially considering-

Those who have long,
Or quite suddenly-

Grasped the completely poetic possibility
Of knowing something's there-

Even though
At the exact same moment,
They also know
It's something that they cannot see:

And therein lies the key.

I do not believe
That there can be
Any argument
When it comes
To the fact-

That there have always been those
Who have their own ideas
Concerning the Cheshire cat-

Well, you know:

The whole the point of
Its ceaseless grinning...

Could it be that
Maybe earlier on,
It suddenly realized
It knows where it's at?

The United States against Richard Nixon-
Richard Nixon against the United States:

Case No. 73-1766:

Case No. 73-1834:

The entire history-

Still like a rather strange
Magical mystery tour...

American politics-

The twentieth century-

What materialized-

The facts and fictions-

Presidential communications,
And corn flakes:

The generalized-

As to what Watergate did-

Which was at least,
To some degree-

What opened up
A lot of American eyes...

Though it's true,
That Presidents before
And after-

Were involved in,
And will be involved in-

Even bigger crimes,
And larger lies.

Evergreens
Surrounding
The cemetery.

And somewhere,
A songbird sings.

But today
Is like all the others...

For though
I've waited
Ever so faithfully:

The one I loved-

She never visits my grave.

I think she's forgotten about me.

Abysmal personality-

Phantasms floating,
Not walking-
Their feet always
A few inches
From the floor:

Nightmares- noon-

And the circumstance
Is the same
With the moon-

A whirlpool
Of lonely,
Haunted-
Solitude...

Reflected,
I've often heard said-

Deep within my eyes of blue:

Watching you.

No claim for a reservoir
Of literary achievements-

No claim for a flow
Of legendary created verse:

Not here-

Not here-

No,
Just a bit of
Lyric work-
Lyric work-

Often in the vein of this...

That is posted periodically,
As you can see:

Internet pop poetry,
If you will-

Thank you.

Don't need to say,
Channel 9-
Channel 9-

Or slither through
Some old curious
Bound volumes
Of broadcast time...

An abandoned,
Decaying,
Local TV station-

Inside,
The sets covered in cobwebs and dust:

With the long dead,
Local TV personalities-

Off and separated far away,
Crumbling in their graves:

And the old TV cameras
That once displayed them,
Are standing still-

Covered in various molds,
And eaten up with rust...

But who knows?

Maybe there's ***** voices
In the place late at night-

With floating,
Flickering images
Of long ago local happenings:

And the news...!

And even the now spectral,
But still incessant giggling
Of the long dead
Local little weather girl too?

But even as we leave it to fade out
To the late acid rock strains
Of E. L. O.'s now considered ancient-

"Bluebird is Dead"

Just keep it in mind-

Don't need to say,
Channel 9-
Channel 9-

No, for I've always heard
It's better if you say it three times!

Channel 9?

If I have been idle-

Yet afterwards wrote-

Picturing things in my mind-

Words that form lines-

That I want to hear sing-

And that maybe even floats...

A song,
A poem-
Whatever you want to call it:

Kick in-
Kick out-
If you ever saw it: or not-

A lyric?

Yes, a lyric, I would suppose-

Or at least- a bit of,
Or kind of verse that may bring...dreams.