I tell the one about a tree,
A burning tire and a goat,
And somehow the irony
Gets lost in the simile. Think again.
Funny indeed are the uses of the word.
Nonsense turns into mango boobs,
A bicycle disappears in the dark,
That sweet fruit might be a bomb.
The bloody taste of language.
Kids I know have to disregard
Their shit of horrible screams —
Fear of ghosts so bad they are
Ghosts themselves. No irony
I can see in the spirit-world.
Never again to weigh that up
Against the penetrable imagination.
But the timing's difficult.
Allahu Akbar.