i once stuffed a stuffer of stockings in a sock that wouldn't talk.
this was in my incorrigible early days.
now, in my even more incorrigible autumn,
i keep my eyes on the ads
always looking for a big year end sale
on better
mousetraps,
cause the good looking gent with the good looking big book
he made us all swear
that a better mousetrap
is the best thing you can get built for yourself
come the new architectural dawn,
and all the precious lovelies
sweat too much but
claim they're having fun.

big fellow, pert gal
trying to adjust one another,
standing precarious
in the ongoing land of shifting allegiance,
makes a steadfast fool
feel the urge to scrap together
a tune
and run it up the odd
auditory canal.

as mousetraps go, and sometimes they do move,
3 out of 5 extras tend to agree,
the biggest mousetrap is the way you
run and hide
whenever the animals
request
you believe.

early some morning,
later than you'd think,
the mute regains a tongue,
and the arresting cops forget their lines.
knowledge is considered a dangerous thing
unless it comes with a 2 year warranty,
and all my friends have ruby pogo-sticks
it ables them to abide,
and when the tsunami decides where to finally hit
won't that make the Pisces in me
fly.

good luck
have a fine time if you can.
lots of folks never return
but that doesn't mean you have to
implode.
i met a lost trouper
on the way to a show
he asked me if i was the song he needed
to complete his lesson.
i shrugged and said
any damn thing
is possible.

today's the last day of 2010
and i hope they recall your tone.
not anybody gets the magic marker
but really all you need
is a number 2 pencil
to write me
care of
the
wolf pack
now
deliberating
upon the fact
that despite all rumor
to the contrary,
they always were nothing more
than
dogs
having the time
of
their lives
sleeping
under
a
hot
sun.

scott
florence, oregon
12/31/2010

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