Belly Dancer

Belly dancer, belly dancer, you must give me some tips.
Should I watch your shimmy shake or focus on your lips?
And what about that floating veil and bells around your hips?
I guess I’ll just sit back and see which strikes my fancy
Then hope you’ll show some kindness and give me a private dancy.

Library Lady

Library lady, library lady, I like your look
Perhaps one day we can check out a book
One with odd characters and a great sleazy plot
We will do it in secret so that we won’t be caught
But such madness will reveal me for a hopeless flirt
Then surely you’ll slap me as I lift your short skirt.

The Mariner

Funny. I attended a dog wedding once. An ancient, ragged man with an eye patch molested me. He wanted to tell me a story about his journey across the salty sea. I said that I had no time for such nonsense and told the old vagrant about a Jewish monk and collector of arcane tales named Benjamin Smith who indeed “entertains” old hobos and then draws out their preposterous stories as a spider draws the guts from an insect. I then laid my hand on his shoulder, looked him in the eye, and said that I had made many new friends now that I had stopped biting people. He wandered off.

Redd Foxx

The Redd Foxx Project is the unhinging of perception. It is the tablecloth being whipped away sending dishes clattering to oblivion. It is the point at which matter becomes the mind. It is where chip meets salsa. It is the culmination of several hours devoted to guitars, drums, improvisational lyrics, voodoo, and a cascade of cheap canned beer.