Saturday, February 24, 2007


When cloven-hoof Prince Turnip in the garden...

Saturday, February 10, 2007

Poem, from the vaults

Refrain: I go down to the river, but I don’t get there

Where the guy with the beard plays his radio

We wish our rocking chairs were visible

We don’t have no lovers nor ice cream

The pigeons look like ink brushes

And the sunset their watercolor

I just put it together

It falls apart a little

The cars driving upstream below