A tale came in a dream
A thigh-slapper, mad-hatter, a scream
Showing a magical globe
Some gypsy dressed in a robe
Someone from Aladdin’s lamp
Not a backstreet tramp
With gestures, winks and bits of stealth
Promising pig-trough wealth
And stars to turn on his gaze
No matter the word or phase
The sun would rise, the moon set
Never a worry about getting wet
Now god in his ear
Nothing to fear
Statues will rise
Don’t forget the pork pies
Still more mirrors, promising self
Like old china off the shelf
Cow resides in his personal globe
Dressed in nothing but slippers and robe
Eating his words before they make sense
Always swinging for the meadow fence
Swallowing thoughts still without form
Pissing on his favorite lawn
Walking back yesterday’s tale
The ways he eats uncooked kale
Telling his gut to feed his brain
Nothing there, a bacterial stain
Now up is down and there is where
Air thin as a whisper, a shaft of hair
Cow curses the man who isn’t there.
Mad Cow has his face in the cloud
Moving his lips out loud
With stars in his eyes
Ketchup with fries
Mirror captures it all
Cow’s fortunate fall
Head of the class
For his impressive ass
Herd upon herd
Taking his word
Scraping the knee
Paying a fee
Fuel for the udder
Who holds the rudder?
For Mad Cow the world is him
Not some clown on the outer rim