Laughter

The Guardian  says
A girl burst into laughter
While enjoying sex

She has no husband
She has not learned the hard way
Men don’t like giggling

But if with a man
Another man might laugh too
We don’t know why

Except  our organs
Have not evolved to be cute
Except for our brains

We can’t see them yet
But they make us laugh and cry
And do algebra

Learn Greek and Hebrew
Lie on rocks in sunshine
Laughing at a nose

Don’t lose your new pen
You can write a poem there
A letter in French

To a friend exposed
By Russians for his photos
Why save the image?

Once seen,forgotten
In the cemetery yard
They have too many

All this talk I wonder
Why it is so  on our minds
A bad sign,don’t think.

I don’t like  the odour of your shoes

I am good and you are evil now
I decide and you must  just agree
I am  your superior and how!

I must be the bull and you are cows
You are blind but I can truly see
I am good and you are evil now

By  good fortune, I am well endowed
I make better cakes and better tea
I am  your superior and how!

I don’t like  the odour of your  shoes
All  I meet will  certainly agree
I  shine  bright and you are duller now

I know  that  God himself was born  anew
I will  learn his language  for a fee
I feel so superior in the  pew

I am the python  in the apple tree
The adder shedding skin, the perjury
I am good  but boring too I know
Where are the shades,  the LSD,the glow?

Who acts real?

What is real is what’s spontaneous
So we’re told by Freud and his cohorts
But is that  wise for  genuine psychopaths?

If their urges make them full of wrath
To what strategy should we resort
When what is real is what’s spontaneous?

To give them knives  would be audacious
If they  murder, what shall we report?
That they were being real as psychopaths?

Wild like starving wolves ,ferocious
They may shred the innards of our hearts
When what is real is what’s spontaneous

Some start killing young, precocious
Let them  still be childlike as they start
If murder’s  real then who are psychopaths?

Life is  played on stage, it is an art
Acting is deceptive,real in parts
If real’s defined by   what’s spontaneous
Keep well away from next door’s psychopaths