It turns out the butler did not, in fact, do it, but rather,
the reltuB did, which explains a lot
in this reverse time angle of a mystery,
and has me rethinking everything
about everything.
Had I only thought about time as a reversible object,
I think I would have resolved this thing much sooner,
but then, i didn’t realize that was an option!
Live and learn.
Next time, I just might get Twisty bread with my order.
Might put me in a better position to resolve this kind of thing anyway…
You seem to have a flair
for finding praise
in whatever ramble
you might happen to hear.
That is a skill uniquely specific to you, my dear,
a positive quality I have found in no other before.
I have found no other to find such silver linings
in however cloudy a speech might be given.
You can uncover the good in anyone’s words,
however they may be presented.
I’d present you an example,
but I could bear to be bothered
to go through the effort.
Just trust me when I say
you’re quite good at spinning it around.
Well done!
They found you out.
They discovered your past.
They realized who you were
what you did
how you used to make your money.
You served in one of the top eight professions,
up there with hunting, killing and sexing.
Cleaning up would have been one of the originals,
but probably less respected,
yours was one of the first,
Is it an honor?
Doubtful.
Is it a necessity?
Absolutely.
Will you be given your due?
We shall see, if you are made a subject of tribute
for having been a maid.
Time will tell us soon enough.
The chicken in question was fried
and it was good.
You would have suspected, if you had seen it
but it was gone so quickly,
you might have had no chance.
As soon as it was delivered,
it disappeared.
I gave the poor thing little chance.
You might have liked her, had you seen her.
She was noble once,
when she was at full strength,
or so I’m told.
I only knew her post-carnate
in this after-state.
In this way,
she was delicious.
“You’re really on to the new American haiku, kid.
“Just writing this short, elegant format.
In and out. Making the point, quickly, cleanly.
“I think you should consider this.”
Rains stopped public crowds.
“Nature needs an enema,”
quoth Diana, sad.
“Shillelagh needs rain,”
I agreed, “to stop. Fuck rain.”
Fist bumps to agree.
Open mics ran in,
despite weather. Attendants
played their hearts out, well.
We’re at it again. We’re at it again. You might as well corral us ’cause we’re at it again!
Since Marcos has come back to town things haven’t been the same:
the bars have closed at half past four and everyone knows our names.
We’ve become identified as infants terrible
which is really weird because we know that we don’t smell.
We’re at it again. We’re at it again. The people have it in for us; we’re at it again.
The team’s not been together since nineteen ninety nine.
And maybe not even then, since Stevie’d sworn off wine.
It’s probably not been really real since back in ninety six,
so man, we are so really glad that Steve’s back from the sticks.
We’re at it again. We’re at it again. You better call it in, Danny, we’re at it again.
Stevie’s on the pedals. Marcos’ on the bass!
Billy’s in the corner and Frank is still our ace.
Don’t have to tell you the rest of the positions,
coz all of them will be decided by sortition
We’re at it again. We’re at it again. Pray to hell and heaven we’re not at it again!
We, the victors, declare that we have won.
It wasn’t, like, even close.
We beat the other folks, hitherto to be known as “youse guys,”
soundly and roundly
and with indelible ease.
If you look at the scores on the battle,
you’ll see that on elegance, parades,
and uniforms,
it was a virtual sweep for our side,
even if the minor issue of battles
might have been harder to resolve quite so cleanly.
It does look like youse guys took us in combat, yes.
“Rout” could be used, I suppose,
but I prefer the term “one-sided tie.”
Still, we, the victors, will allow your submission at this point.
We look forward to the fax at your earliest convenience.
Behind. Get ready
to massively write haiku
for all of the night.
Diana, Vegan,
offering moral support.
“Also writing lines!”
the comedian
corrects me, right at my side.
When she’s right, she’s right.
I’m going down to Madison Ave.
I have a plan to give it all I have.
If it don’t work out, at least I’ll get a fine epigraph.
I’ve got a chance to perform for all the execs.
They’ll see me, hear me, for a couple of full sets.
Those promotional people will experience my appeal with the sex!
You know I will not waste this opportunity;
this chance to succeed is not wasted on me.
It’s my last freakin’ possibility – for liberty.
Goddamn! I punked it when I got to Mad Avenue.
It looked like I had no idea what to do.
My performance was like I got beaten black and blue.
Oh God, the next time I go to an Avenue so Mad,
I will try to be prepared so I don’t end up so sad
and come up with results that might leave me somewhat more glad.
jonberger 