Pocketa, pocketa
Christopher B. Behrens
pianist, classical
fell on his assical
shattered his spine

Married his sweetie
Recovered completely
six kids and two keeties
all keep him line

Yacketa, yacketa
Christopher B. Behrens
Loves his Lord Jesus
Who loves us and sees us
Through thick and through thin

Lots sixty pounds of fat
Jumpin' Jehosaphat
Some might think that proves that
he's full of win

Ceteris Paribus
Christopher B. Behrens
Is deeply musical
sometimes confusical
Plays on guitars

To kids at their bedtime
He sings "You're my Sunshine"
And sometimes at nighttime
he smokes a cigar

Hexasyllabically
Christopher B. Behrens
Econ and Business
But software's like Christmas
And work is like play

Deskwise, a Latinist
Cat-In-the-Hatinist
Vobiscum Dominus
Have a nice day.

It wasn't supposed to go like this!
Julian and cousin Henry
fled breathless down the alley
Henry turned and fired two shots
toward their uniformed pursuers.

                             "Late breaking news:
                              Police interrupted a burglary
                              in the 300 block of Hastings.
                              An officer is down and has been taken to
                              Blessed Sacrament Hospital."

Henry and Julian raced in
through his Mom's front door
scrambling for the basement.
Henry mad beyond himself said.
"I know I hit him, man, I saw him drop!"
"Get a grip you fool,
you winged him and we got away

                             "The slain officer's name has been released.
                              Brad Kravcik leaves a wife, a grown daughter
                              and two teen-aged sons.
                              Witnesses identified two youths and police
                              expect an arrest at any minute."

Julian's mother exploded
down the stairs. "Your pictures
are on the tube. You idiots
killed a ******* cop.
Get the hell out of my house!"
The two boys tried for the door
but bullhorns, lights
and a forest of rifles barred their exit.

                             "This just in: two suspects have been arrested
                              in the shooting death of officer Kravcik.
                              Julian Lewis and Henry Behrens
                              are believe to be responsible
                              for a string of north side break-ins.
                              The whole community is
                              breathing a huge sigh of relief."

The governor made no eleventh hour call,
so Henry banished all thoughts
of the plastic tube silently
dripping terminal liquid into his vein
He felt the world go hazy
then felt nothing - nothing at all.

I sit here,
Fingers aching,
Smudged in ink,
From when I changed the ribbon,
My right knee decides,
At this very moment,
To make its regular bout of grinding pain known to me,
Yay.


Heloise Tunstall-Behrens and Luisa Gerstei are making my heart shatter,
From over 3,700 miles away.
These sirens are begging the listener to Sing them to sleep,
Because they've gone and lost the mindset,
To dream seamlessly.

Their club has swelled by one,
I say to myself as I light a smoke,
It's about to be a long night.

My knee starts complaining once more,
The old injury settling down after I massage the ailment.

Now the trickling of a xylophone is tapping out of the wires,
Gentally accompanied by a guitar and the girls,
They're warning the listener of their past transgressions,
It's gentle tone,
Lulling you into hearing,
Before your brain can register the lyrics,
However,
They're whisked away by the xylophone,
What was a steady trickle has swelled into a quick stream,
They're now telling the listener to use them up,
Because that's what they're expecting anyway.
Seems like a tale of escaping from something bad to me.

Is this why I write?
To escape?

Or is it to bring you into my world,
If only for a bit?