The Dzmc Apocrypha 20

doody, ( i meant to say howdy) thar,
stranger, what's your nomenclature? i wonder
aloud to the birds in the
sky. how 'bout a slab
of blueberry pie? not that
i have one on
hand, un-
derstand, I'm just sayin', since
mime is illegal in most states
of mind, and, not being
unkind, blueberry stains do
not match your pants. speaking
of legals, not boxers or beagles, i wonder,
not who wrote the book
of love-I doped that out last march-why it

happens to be, somebody said, i've got
to be me? to that i invoke
the fat chance. could i not be, at least for a
day, an old jitney driver, working
hard for no pay? chew on
that and, when you've spat, tell me
the tale, and you might make a
sale. the shortest stride
between two points, is often the
cause of flexing, not
smoking the joints. if i knew that
then, or some other time when, i might
feel a little less
dense, and to my relief, let me pause
to be brief, the world and
this verse would
make sense.