If you don’t have a choice, rejoice,
‘Cause you don’t have to care.
If you have to have a choice, a voice,
In what gets done and where
Be sure you listen to your voice
Before you offer it to share.
I’ve let fly some wild birds
That never had a prayer
Of ever being heard
‘Cause however right they were
They were outright absurd,
Their meaning eaten by the words.

Those who dance normally choose
To do so on their feet.
The Rumzumzimmers feel they lose
Their connection to the beat
So they dance on their hearts
In an impossible art
Where mess and beauty meet.

They’re often off time
But time doesn’t matter,
Some call it a crime
As they make a great clatter
So they choose not to listen
Wholly on their own mission
And can’t be insulted or flattered.

The Rumzumzimmers also choose
To sing in a manner that maybe might
Be from a somewhat odder muse
As they pick a perilous fight
With song’s almighty tune,
They use their armpits to croon.
No one gets everything right.

A moral’s its own story
So let’s go on without.
Glory’s often boring
And not what it’s about.
You’re fine to fall,
Some wins are quits,
It is it and that is all,
Let it be and be with it.

There was a snake who ate his tail
And still he goes on swallowing.
It’s long past stale and yet he fails
To see he’s only following
Himself around himself again,
Somehow he’s always hollowing
Himself out of himself again
So still he goes on swallowing.

Hipple blew out the candles,
She blew out the stars,
She blew out a kiss
To all near and far.

Not all wanted kisses,
Nor all the lights out,
They blew back at her
And she’s still tumbling about.

If they forget my name
I’m free.
No one can call me back,
I may, quite simply, be.
If they forget my name
All will have lost my only key.
Except myself, of course,
I must forget I’m me.

(Inspired by the nursery rhyme Little Boy Blue.)

Little boy blue
Of skies shot through
With ginger sheep
That howl and weep,
How will you tuck them in to sleep?

Little girl green
Of winter queens
With hearts of ice
That scorn advice,
How will your kindly words suffice?

Little brass horn
Of rough notes born
With hopeful howls
That hail all crowns,
How will these candied clouds rain down?

Blue, green and brass
Have come to pass
And all is calm,
And all is balmed,
All but a colorful song.

You’re out of control!
You sass right back,
Won’t do as you’re told,
And are happily on the wrong track.

You’re out of control!
You’re the child of wild,
So forward and bold,
The gleam in troublesome’s smile.

You’re out of control!
You call truth to a duel
And refuse to enroll
In polite society’s rules.

You’re out of control!
Thank goodness.

The ancient, the old
Forgotten tales are told
By one who’s done remembering,
One who’s gone Decembering,
One who’s on now timbering
Through woods of hinter history
That hold the winter mystery
Of whence came all the snow
For they are cloud and cold,
They are what life allows,
They are then for now,
If tales remain aflame
It’s ’cause one goes on embering.
Do you play or make the game?
Are you living or remembering?

Silence, please,
I hear you breathe!
Great books almighty,
I hear you read!
Your thoughts are buzzing bees!
Your stomach gurgles shake the trees!
There’s no need
To feel so freed
From quieter qualities.
If you ever dared to sneeze
We’d behead you at the knees!
I beg, I plead,
What must be done
To make you heed
This desperate plea?

What? No one else is here?
It’s only…

Me?