The Passing Time

I live in a world full of passersby Each skin-clad soul, a moment Each skin-clad soul, ethereal to me A ghost in times of change They all turn and wander on They all move and twirl And love to be my moment's grasp But gripped, they change They wriggle and are free of me A vixen in the night A self-engaging fright They move to homes where I am not And linger there Awaiting husbands and boyfriends and wives Girlfriends and the like While I, engaged by time itself alone, am left To figure out the pieces where they lie And make sense of something That makes no sense at all.

My Power Comes from My Space Jacket

It isn't too roomy, it isn't too cramped
It isn't too cold and it isn't too amped
It came from a comet, with spacemen in tow
It's my metal space jacket, made of magic space snow

It gives me my powers to fight out in space
And be the protector of the whole human race
I punch and I swing and I kick and I jab
I shoot and dishevel, I poke, and I stab

I give 'em the ole - as they say - one and two
Defending the Earth for the red white and blue
I shake 'em and toss 'em and make 'em all run
I rattle their neck fat and just have some fun

I let 'em all know that it's serious-time
With a digital clock that reads quarter to nine
And if they don't listen and all go to bed
Then my magic space jacket repeats what I said

But it isn't so nice, as it only knows punches
Building fear at the center by eating their lunches
But all shall bow down at the end of the fight
To my magic space jacket and it's magic space might