This Megazine - commmemorative stamp edition

Gold StarScreeching at The Sky
One juvenescent summer,
I remember,
It was ok to blather and spout-
with cheap beers paid for through recycled
cases and a
Claque of people not knowing any better than I,
But screeching at the sky
like one can only do
when one is timeless;
When one will never die.
And yes, it was ok.

But that was only for a moment.

I remember- The Queen of Heaven was there.
Writing was only thinking,
Only breathing-
Surviving, I think I mean.
Beer was different from acid
because someone else had the acid.
They blankly giggled while
we watched and laughed
at them laughing at us
And we wore brass balls
under our flowered dresses
And they were sore afraid.

The viscous, spongy dampness
of our (sometimes girlish) thoughts
was ever just as dangerous
(moreso, maybe), for our
Complete and utter lack of
Concern for absolutely anything else at all.
Sick and slow, ill and summer-hot reality
(when there was not enough drama
to support our fantasies, we invented it)
Made the porch a stage
With performances nightly.
For years.
And, for some reason,
That was more evident, then.
And effortless.
And liberating, not humiliating.

And only occasionally heartbreaking.

Last time I think
I saw unintended pain
Was when the Princess crashed-
And I did not know what to say.
I would have, once. But I fain would
not offend. The children may be listening.
-there are children now, you know-
comicJesus bless Waz, and
Bless my record

I'll sit in here,
inside here;
And I'll listen
And I'll answer my e-mail
(and as close I am the farther away)
And I'll watch the Psychic Friends
and as distant I try the nearer the words
And I'll wash the dishes

And I'll visit and host
(and I'll imagine the cleaning girl)
And think about
Some time when-
Some form of antibacterial sponge when-
I didn't think about these

And I'll imagine a time will come
When I once more don't
Think about these things.
And the sponges will be dif-
80's hairferent.
A new and mesmerizing
Shade of Green.

And I imagine that
This color of green
Doesn't upset you so much.

Some time when
I'll be screeching at the sky
Or waiting for my next assignment

Some time when Waz
Will kindly remind me
That yes, it's still ok.
Be dramatic or retarded, be
Herod or Mercutio, Mutt or Jeff-
anything at all, but dammit
be Something or Someone-

You know, like he always does.
Sometimes, I'm thinking, if I was I'd
be as funny but as stupid I'm not...

Some time, but not right now.
Somebody's gotta go mow a lawn


snot so badIntroducing Princess Dye:
Guaranteed to be a hit with your juve-
nescent claque of Ridlin reduced ADD
children! Dying in the viscous, spongy
dampness of your own home washing
device is both safe and easy. Listen to these

"Princess Dye is great! My kids are engaged
for hours so I can go on a date!"
-Katie, San Francisco, CA

"My kids are now all blue and it's safe for my
washer too!" -Andrea, Fredonia, NY

"Thanks to Princess Dye, my kids are once
again the apple of my eye and I can make
them apple pie." -CB, Rochester, NY


No Brainer
There once was a man with no name
His cat was a cat with no brain
His house was a mess
No his name was not Less
At Wal Mart you save Less!


Mark fountainSky is blue
If I ever even slightly begin
to associate with someone
in such a way that truth
(as I see it)
Might be muttered
or spoken-
About anything important
Or minute,
The person is soon running
or spiting or both
And I-with true bewilderment-
Will never know
What it is I do
Until after I've done it.
Because never do I intend
To hurt or offend.
But always I do
If only to say the sky is blue.

Mary G.


Katie's Voice

I laughed when Janine said
That she hates parades.
Annie Oakley shot Kennedy
And wants to get paid.

The 10-year-old great-granddaughter
Of Daniel Boone
Gave me a needle
For my big red balloon.

Doctor Jack's dressed in black.
In the sick room I wait.
His cure for my malady
Is heaven's gate.

They locked the door
To punish me for my sin.
Now I can't get out
And they won't let me in.

Katie's voice is crystal clear
And changes it's tone.
I can reach out and touch her
But I'm still all alone.

Children carry pistols
And kill each other for fun,
As we send our soldiers
To foreign shores with toy guns.

Don't ever give matches
To Ms. O'Leary's cow.
The Titanic is sinking
So I'm getting off now.

If this song makes no sense to you
Move on to something else.
If you want one you can understand,
Write it yourself.

Micky 3/28/98