Based on Paul Klee's painting of the same name. Written for poetry class, and therefore completely pointless.

At 8 I was a Doctor Helping all I could Saving everyone in need like I thought I should At 10 I was a lawyer Though I lost most every case But my mother said I argued best

Bessie must make a choice between the safe court life she's always known and a newer -more exciting- alternative... piracy.

The lady looks at the serf in many different ways But never sees him through his working day Thinks only of her shinning knight, and never milk or cow

(Performance Poem) The dance The dance into new space Foot prints on virgin sands Wind blown minds Shipping out Yeah I’m shipping out

Trouble With Lips They're connected mafiosa of moods leading the pack telling tales of tingle and taste sherbet licks of plump fantasy fingered and stroked like a tongue poked through smoke

Shirt Tales Shirt tails but not down and dirty freshly hung big, starched, smoothly tailored buttoned up seaisle cotton with a soft handle a cool drift over a tight warm thigh

Nancy's office chair is slowing scraping her dreams into dust. (first part of a draft)