Lullaby

I swear that I’ve been here before;
I’ve been sprawled out on this very floor.
The booing and clapping–
hissing and laughing–
quite sure, yes, I’ve been here, I have been here before.

There were sixty five million and four
tame, paradoxical snails at my door.
“Could we borrow some dice
and a book about mice,”
cried all sixty five million and four.

“Good morning, dear creatures come in,
and tell me of all of the places you’ve been.”
Snail-sisters and -brothers,
snail-fathers and -mothers,
came and buried me up to my chin.

Like the strangest Carrollian dream,
they told me of all they had seen–
of a clown in disguise,
with wise elephant eyes,
and maniacal laughter died purple and green.

But when the cuckoo clock finally struck ten,
their stories quite suddenly came to an end.
The bird flew from the clock
and he gobbled them up–
the bird flew from the clock
and he gobbled them up–
The bird flew from the clock
and he gobbled them up
and he flew to his cuckoo clock once again.