A True Poem

i

Scrunch purple! I've
pudding on panties. Snug!

My hobo name's Brushfires
Andy — seriously! My *other*
name's Chattahoochee. Luggle-
juggle dip droopy. Swedish
meats lick stud missles. Bad beets
mean good gravy — starslings
and lost lumplets.

Every dragon eats
a wizard; every wizard
is an elf.
Cobblers, each one.




ii

"Fel-leeeeeeni!"

Get that spurt
outta there!

I diddle butter better, bite
a whoop in ain't-it-good...
Crumpet fumbled un-
crushed boats. It's "on
porpoise!" Beerbelly
shake-up in a wakened town.
Oh, well. What's
the heck?

It's all gravy, glorious
and grody. To that maxi-pad, indeedy.




[Most of my poems are lies — beautiful lies that, as Dante says, cover the truth like veils. This poem, however, is true.]