I heard a red bird
sing the blues
gone … gone
slipping off the top of the world
offering no particular advice
for sad Lolita working her lollipop
and speed racer revving his engine
before blowing a head gasket
sealing a little boy’s fate
and the red bird
singing the blues
kept slip sliding away
past lasting forever
minds going from hot to cold
Einsteins and Freudian bozos
never to be clever
telling me to watch the heron
fly backwards, upside down
infinite breast strokes
I’m in circles
she’s speaking her mind
maybe not or maybe so
in-between the lines
my head keeps turning
to the trade winds blowing
over clear clean waters
and muskrats swimming
west of the rainbow
© chuck a stetson 2012
formerly Mean Mr. Mustard @ Open Salon
I have been wondering How/Where Ya be?
Gulping Ale? Well. I wish You to Be Well.
James M. Emmerling mentioned You.
Ya remind me of a Blue and Red Bird.
You a ornithologist Who left O Saloon.
I have vowed to leave Many O Times.
Some base-critters remind me? Eels.
They are so`Slippery and Smell Fishy.
Maybe they will become a Oncologist.
Some folk are bass/stinker Head Fish.
The local/loco oncologist No Eat Eels.
Take care. No be bummed if see eels.
at times i still belly-up
o` to the Saloon
on Dr’s orders
no oncologist
nor ornithologist
only me & see eels
sipping ale of ginger