from the vault

The Conspiracy Unmasked



"Take a letter," he said

To a small lump of lead,

While the typist reclined on the couch.

"Address it to me,

"And refer to the sea,

"And tobacco that's kept in a pouch."


The sensuous fern,

Wove in its urn,

A tale of drunken disorder.

The clock struck fourteen,

Said something obscene,

And the cuckoo performed it to order.


He slumped to the desk,

So she stripped off her vest,

And draped it on top of the door.

She then followed suit,

Except for one boot,

With the rest of the clothes that she wore.


She reclined in the nude,

And thought about food,

While the cuckoo clock started to smolder.

The bird gave a leer,

And murmured, "my dear,"

"If only I weren't so much older."


"Where's that letter?" he cried,

With eyes that were wide,

And he leaped to his feet in a fright.

He could see that she knew,

It was inside her shoe,

"Could you help me? It's just a tad tight."


He pulled the boot free,

She said, "goodness me,"

As he staggered and fell through the glass.

They found her in York,

Drinking gin with a stork,

Two penguins, a duck, and a bass.



"Oh no," she protested,

"Don't have me arrested,

"I betrayed him, but not of free will.

"The cuckoo's the one,

"It did it for fun,

"And because it is mentally ill."


She spoke at the trial,

For quite a long while,

But the clock took the fifth on the stand.

The girl was acquitted,

The clock was committed,

For such was the law of the land.



Title poem of 1994 Dark Regions Press collection (my third chapbook)