Keep off the grass.

I tried Democracy once
but I didn't like it. I gave
my seat to an old lady
on a bus, but she just
took it home and
burnt it.

I think Democracy
is just for the
masses.

Isn't democracy a grand thing.

Out in the meadows
a quiet massacre

that is not picked up

by the faulty microphones
of the masses is underway.

Can you lend me a minesweeper, inquires
the dusty old General through his mouth,
to a small girl next to him, who was busily picking flowers

for a funeral.

For you see, my dear, continues the General, in a rather stiff

and brittle manner, I'm afraid that all of our mis-spellings and continual

abuse of standard english, have eventually come home to roost.

JOKE.

Charles Dickens: Please, sir, I'd like a martini.
Bartender: Sure thing. Olive or twist?

Dada is a Cabaret o.k.

dada is
a cabaret, o.k.
of tripping cabinet makers
all entertaining a cacophony
of graduating cadets
on caffeine and cola
each dressed in newly pressed
caftan and calico cagoules
sacrificing on an alter of cabbage cake
inside a caterwauling cathedral
in chile
a hand reared calf
planned and
cut according to
the carefully prescribed custom
described in
the Copper Calligraphy
of Camber Callow The Mature
For Sure.

The Heat in Wheat.

Jonny was a mind
of information. Did you know
for ink stand, heed say, that WHEAT
has got a WHEAT and a HEAT and an EAT
and an AT and a TEA in it.
And look, heel say,
sitting down at his tripe
writer, it's easy, you just press any
quay, and all the worms
come out here; worms like; Footballer,
or Bingo Caller, or Natalie; I like Natalie,
And did you know,
heal say [if yew let hymn]
that if you rearrange the letters
in william shakespeare's name you get,
I am a weakish speller.
And if you rearrange the leppers
in madonna louise ciccone's name
you get,
occasional nude income.
Ant if you rearrange the letters
in charlie chaplin's name
you get,
what a bloody silly and annoying little twit.
Yeah. Jolly was a midden of inspiration,
and often morgue.

Some advice for Harry.

"You can never step into
the same river twice," said Harry, putting down
his coffee cup. "Your quite wrong,
said George, bending down,
picking up his baseball bat.
"You can never step into
the same river once."

"Then what", asked Harry,
"is the sound of one hand clapping."

"Well that's easy", replied George,
while reaching out to hang his serviette
upon a nearby kneeling seaman.
"It's the simple sound of silence
in unison."

George, you see, was a sixth grader.
He also had several degrees in gravel manipulation,
a brother in the police force,
and numerous go-karts
in various lock-up
garages.