"Spy Prototype Robot Girl, Number 5"

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 kill you, if you ever make her cry:

Giving you fair warning,
I suppose-

That she is after all:

Spy prototype robot girl, number 5.

"TV Channel 9- Circa 2086"

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 spook 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?

"The Last Stop ( 1:58 A.M. in the Morning )"

A tip for the waitress-
Because she doesn't look the kind
To allow a slap upon her behind!

Well, you know,
Some of these truckstop mamas,
Just don't wanna let it shine!

So I'm outside climbing aboard my old rig-
And heading off down the road-

Doing what I always do-

Hauling another load:

Turning on the radio...

And immediately
Picking up the start
Of Red Sovine...

"Phantom 309"

While I'm already
Lead-footing it,
Rushing through the gears-

Pushing this old rig up to speed:

Just trying to make some time!

But suddenly there's lights up ahead,
All over the road-

And I'm....

( Time of death upon the police report- 2:48 A.M. in the morning ).

"Poetic Possibility"

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.

"Verbal"

Verbal jugglery-

Well, maybe it all
Comes down to you and me?

It may not be some lyric ecstasy-

Nor some conversation
Composed of wantonness and witchery:

Simply verbal jugglery-

Possibly
With teasing
Double meanings-

That rollicks through
An addiction to dreaming:

Dreaming of you.

"The Conversational Girl"

Actual portraits,
Or stuffed idealizations-

Inspired improvisations:

She's the conversational girl...

Thoughts of her fluid form-

Her grace and style
And her beauty,
100 times above the norm.

Dreams and dreams,
And endless shifting themes-

And what it all comes down to,
And what it all means:

Her existence as a counterpoint
To this very strange world-

She's the conversational girl.

"Clothes- ( Old, Torn, Loose, And Unclean )"

Clothes-
Old,
Torn,
Loose,
And unclean-

A homeless man
Stumbling down the street:

Knowing that he's in the world-

Yet apparently
Being patronised by
Some very grotesque dream.

And anything said to him,
When anything is said at all:

Seems so ludicrous-

Whether anyone thinks he is,
Or isn't dangerous-

As he likes to say to himself,
With what little sanity he has left-

Upon the streets of this city,
He's pretty much seen and heard it all...

And he's curious.

"If You Have Heard Voices"

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?

"The Artist's Feelings"

The artist's feelings-
Is it always
The artist's feelings?

Like the painting - sculpture
Of the musical-

Different arts-

Sgt. Pepper hearts...

The original Hank Williams:

With "Hey Good Lookin'"
Being sung in London
By three very cheeky
English tarts-

Just a song?

Any song?

Melody,
Rhythm,
And harmony-

The artist's feelings...

Well, no matter-

It still all comes down to
What it means to me...

And I think that's the reality.

"Neo-Nutritionists Saying"

Neo-nutritionists saying,
"Up the department,"
And doing exercises-
Almost as if they're
Standing on their heads
At the Bronx Zoo-

Never been there-

But as could be pointed out,
Even if you haven't got a clue
As to what I'm talking about-

Some might say,
The zookeepers themselves
Would go- "Shoo, shoo."

Yet they also no doubt believe
They must receive balanced
Nutritious food...

As I'm sitting here,
Listening and watching
All of this on a plasma TV screen-

Makes me wonder
What they're all on-

And that woman's eyes,
Are they aquamarine?

The most beautiful eyes
I've ever seen.

"All The Noise"

Films,
Magazines,
Newspapers-
Radio,
TV-
Blogs,
Web sites-

A cat's curiosity
At the mad state
Of the world-

And also
Great dismay.

And the precise nature
Of what you mean-
When you say,
You long for
The dawning
Of a brand-new day:

But maybe
You can't even put it
Into words
To explain?

So you
Just shake your head,
And walk away-
Into the gathering darkness
Of the night:

Disappearing down
Some lonely street...

And it's quiet.

"Today ( Is Like All The Others )"

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.

"The Notion That-"

The notion that
Merely to sit
And brood,
Can be-

And for many is,
Enjoyment.

Or to be
The world master
Of the cynical-

And not even to give a kick-

Against the cobwebs.

Is the notion that-

In every such emotion that-

'Tis true.

"The Sense Of The Image Of Elvis In The '70s"

1977
And the mortal remains
Of Elvis Presley in his casket
With rumored applications
Of mortician's wax-

Yet Elvis Presley only
A few years before
In an armchair-

Attempting astral projections-

With an exaggerated
Sense of a need
Of supplication
To someone-
Anyone:

While possibly
Reminiscing back
To his contact
With the pre-Watergate
Nixon Administration:

Revealing to Nixon
In the Oval Office-

His opinion
Of the hippie
Drug culture,
And the Beatles:

Plus tax...

And to be sure-

The image of Elvis
In the '70s:

Along with Las Vegas,
And his constant cross-country,
And seemingly endless tours:

Elvis wasn't from Mars-

Elvis was a rock and roll star.

"The Proper Respect"

Every survey
Of ancient history
And tradition-

And the continued interest
In the physical remains
Of long dead Egyptian:

Especially-

With the deciphering
Of the Rosetta stone...

And though
It's not as if
There's anything
Wrong with reading
And studying
The writings
On tombs
And temples-

It does make you wonder,
When it comes to
These same ancient Egyptians-

If sometimes
They wouldn't mind
Very much-

At least for a while,
Just to find themselves
Being left alone?

That is-

When you consider
The endlessly disturbing
Of their peaceful slumber,
After having been asleep
For so very long?

Though I'll admit
To as much curiosity
As anyone else-

I can't deny-

But that it is fascinating...

Yet I think
There is also such a thing
As making a point
Of simply knowing when
To show the proper respect.

"This Poetry? / Unruly?"

This poetry?

Unruly?

Well, excuse me...

It just doesn't matter to me:

If many or any,
Both of which there are plenty-

Say I've impoverished the suppleness
Of what is supposed to be the established verse script:

So what if it's seen
As neither cool nor hip?

Or upon the old literary radar-
It doesn't even pick up a single blip?

For accordingly-

To me:

It's always been...

Lyrics- lyrics- lyrics-

Like a product for your perusal
In a mall or a market:

Open 24 hours-

Come hither-

Night or day!