History of KahnWilma/Biddle Creek

=== Biddle Creek ===

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Mr. Cee Bee m'a dit que Biddle Crock is a nasty-

little-town and lord knows I bin there

This is downtown Bittle Crup

This is Lakechewer Mall

This is Acky's Artshoppe

but not with nasty-little-sty in my eye.

Heart-struggled de Mille, you saw through

blear the grain silo, called it crap, call

old man K's serial salt-peterous stuff

denounced the whole genre as bibleous.

But I yam what I yam said the little train

whoo whoo and chugga chugga right into

Bottle Crook.

+

Past timesredolent sniffing dogwood no

smell you say? Acky Artshoppe a fine young

toother / ready spear / our hearts were

young and gay . . . half-goy whay couldn't

he do? Encomium requires piano drums

impromptu comus acting

stage screen and bed.

Acky speaks Acky Laughs.

Ching ching Wocky pays.

Old man Acky knight of the Boots Randolph,

senor drumster Jewish lothario of C-W muse.

Artist par ex, progenitor of Reese's Cup labels,

fame-grabbing anonymity his lot. His lot a

pseudo-gnome home shady dell where young Acky

works unto this day bucket o'er head

microphone at lips sschlooshy esses

uncanny stellar stream -- for a moment I

took him for Andy Kauffman, post-Elvis

expressionist may he rip.

+

AfinelittlemallitisLakechewer?

Wheresthelake

Mustbethex-pee-way

/

I'll-buy-you-some-new-underwear

+

Downtown

Baddle Creek

Uglylittletown

lookatallthemtallbuildings

+

Triumphal return Dr. Wocky

(Jabber to her friends) views

the fine city aping Chi-town, Chi-lites,

that bottom, shoo-be-do-wah that bottom.

Kiss my

Buttle Crack I'm back,

and snails curl slime round city to

find old man K's gift and Stuffer O-tell.

Spiral's hub noose a men a two-buck par king,

cheap mein gott,

quoth Wocky, I gotta get otta Albany!

A rizzy din sert par an effete

semi-tuxtal whale,

"and if that wasn't dessert enough,

two cookies with your bill!"

Ach! we'd hobnobbed all right

rubbernecking the menu

in the elevator behind rich suits

a few stray heirs

looks so natural Dieter

close enough to touch -- mein ex-prez!

Et puis the gift de 1981

to the people of Boggle Cruck

inside the mouth of a mechanical dog

a place for b-ball / no shame /

great game / many fine folders

and a pseudo stage throne against wall,

stage abuse I calls it.

+

The sho. Each group disclaimed

we were there, now were here

Grassrooters summing Sha Na Na Na Na

Live For Today. Carpe diem

Jaggalike, high-to-me,

but a young Mamphan first,

Sir Andy of Childs,

co-citoyen de Sir Mark of Collie

and the Dogs. Woof! Puis, novar man,

garage band, kneeded rubbing,

crypto-Elvis, story teller . . . .

Lookatimbiggut

Howzeclimetheladders

Popeelpocketladderscaler

Dontshoutshittheresanoldlady

Dontshoutfucktheresanoldman

Anotherfireman

placescrawlin

beergut

popeel

gottadrink

Grassrooters but you recall

it all swims in a dog

earless, rear legless, grass, get it, grass --

two annahafhoursrudelymashed the A-sock

shameless, sang their own

and everyone else's a sixties show that's what

no flute today a DX 7 cardboard toot

no attempt to blow four gone guys

three new guise

two old guys a hat-covered bald, cords gone

26 years rasping I bin married longer

TO THE SAME WOMAN!

Windy not my tune protested Dr. Wocky whistling

Windy, Biggle Click truly a Windy city tonight, shy town!

Stuffer Kleenex stuffed in Wocky's ears

loud wind -- don't go

away Rene and along comes Mary

lotta jokes about this song but

a piece of poesy gives

gristle to compulsive chewers:

/ / /

now my empty cup is as sweet as the punch /

live ~ for ~ today /

/ /

sweet as the punch.

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