he has the instincts of a lion king
hunting the scraggly brush around the house
he stalks the illusive field mouse
the squirrel and the jay
but his real quarry is the cat dish
by the screen door on the porch

there's ten thousand years of instinctual education
stirring in his tiny head
but he knows it's all in fun
and his real job
is keeping my friend Milton company

i sneeze
nearly lose myself in the experience
knew a man who did that once
it was Christmas Eve
he was coming out of Woolworths
he sneezed and he was dead
before the spray hit the ground
i was afraid to sneeze for months afterwards

even now i stop before i sneeze
i almost lose myself in the experience
just in case

we had the funeral for the guy the day after boxing day
it would have been a solemn occasion but
somebody sneezed
and all the subverted laughter suddenly exploded
even the widow was laughing

i've been afraid of subverting my laughter ever since
what if i'm the one who cracks up
and sets the room cackling
at precisely the wrong moment

so nowadays
i laugh as long and often as possible
wouldn't want a stray belly roll to get away
and sometimes when i sneeze
it all descends in laughter
i almost lose myself in the experience
it's a long story

i left a big gap in my pages
i could think of no more appropriate way to describe these days
since those terrorists hijacked those planes
and flew them into those big buildings in the United States

there are no words in the world to describe what it's been like since then
we've always been insulated from the real heavy stuff
oh yeah, we saw in on TV every night
but that was TV
we never had to duck shrapnel before
we never had to wash the blood from our faces
or cover our noses against the stench of death

we never knew anybody who knew anybody who got blown to bits
now we all know somebody who knows somebody who got blown to bits

i left a gap in my pages
i could find no other way to say it

i came upon the great poet
he was busy washing sand in the desert
while the tide was high
i came upon the great poet
and this is what he told me:

poetry is not an occupation for the young
it will not feed your body or endear you to anyone
poetry is a lonely sport for the deaf and lame
it a long long road to nowhere and the company is thin
poetry is a sport for despearate men and only the biggest liars
poetry is a pasttime for old women who've lost the strength to paint
to be young and ask for poetry
is to accept the dismal fate
of being forever on the outside
because you need the time to write

i came upon the great poet
he was sifting a snow storm for gold
while dancing for no one special
i came upon the great poet
and this is what he told me;

with skin like yours and the shattered heart
your perfect fodder for life's cannon
take the shot and pray it gives you
any art but poetry
don't wish it on yourself my sweet
my gentle dreaming lad or lass
don't wish it on yourself
cause i've been there all my life
and poetry is bust
poetry is dust
don't get it in your eye

my papa was the head of the CIA
he ran the FBI too
my momma was a bad cop's wife
she never got away

my brothers and sisters all took the pledge
they've kept it to this day
i'm the black sheep of the family
i chose another way

there's an anarchist's wind
in the city tonight
there's sedition in the air
there's dirty tricks and cover ups
and madmen who seem quite sane

my grandpa was a blind man
he knew the bible by heart
my grandma was a Mohawk mother
but it was hard to tell

and there's an ancient drum
beating in my chest
there's a grizzly on the prowl
there's an old old truth
that needs to be told
and some deeds that must be done

my papa was a criminal general
my momma found out too late
my brothers and sisters all took the pledge
and have kept it
to this day