My god I will sing Hymn 43
to you in this passion play
were cross-eyed Mary
gonna wind-up Mother Goose.

Wond'ring aloud in her
slipstream were you almost
need to have an aqualung
and you'll get an locomotive
breath.

Up to me in your cheap
day return.


***

Ladies, Queen and country!
All back-door angels and
SeaLions!
See me skating away on the
thin ice of the new day!

Rise two fingers on the
third horrah, for the warchild
in this rainbow blues
or call it the glory row.

This quartet is gonna play
the Warchild Waltz when
fading away in the saturation
of this paradise steakhouse.

Feels like a SeaLion part II,
that's only solitaire, or as a
bungle in the jungle.


***

Have you heard of the
Baker Street Muse?

The one white duck in the
cold wind to Valhalla is just
a minstrel in the gallery,
were 0^{10}=nothing at all.

The black satin dancer dances
her requiem in her pan dance.
March the mad scientist by grace
along the summerday sands.