I'm glad I'm not A lunatic - Could never be My brain's too quick… It being made Of Hummer wings - Jets, bullets, bolts Such zoomey things… Hope, friends, you, too Have healthy heads - Like make your howls At SOL instead… Of Luna who Resents them so - She bombs with spit As black as snow… Goodbye from here Beneath the soil - With mole wife, "Gert" And baby, "Goil." J.R. Rolly Moorpark