Prologue

BY bell and book and candle,
I grab the tea-cup handle
Shake well until the tea leaves
Show inner vision free weaves.
Follow, I'll be your leader,
Listen! fierce, gentle Reader.

Predictions

The Priestess says, "Oh, cricky!
'Tis wonderful! say Dicky
It makes my stomach sticky,
          Give me a glass of beer.
I see a mighty river,
I feel a pain—that sliver
Is sticking in my liver,
          Singular things appear."

The Iceman, see, he's messing
Over the salad dressing,
The cider press is pressing
          And squeezing out the juice.
The coffee urn is rusting,
The fine-tooth comb is crusting,
The parlor maid is dusting
          The antiquated goose.

The Donkey brays on week days,
The Coachman drives the sleek bays
Along the muddy byways
          And highways near the river.
Apollo rubs the red styes
That mar his troubled blink eyes.
He shoots an arrow crosswise,
          Then gobbles up his quiver.

The Priestess smiling sweetly
Fingers the tea leaves, neatly
Licking her lips: Completely
          Buried in occult science
Dreams not—but, hush (don't mention)!
All silently, all tension,
The Tea Pot makes ascension—
Infallible defiance!

The Tea Pot rises ever
Flaming with heat. Sly,clever
Witch of the tea cup—Never
          Can I forget the squeal,
She uttered when I smashed her.
The broken Tea Pot slashed her,
From ear to ear I gashed her
          And hashed her like hashed veal.
And now there came reaction,
Strange sort of weird attraction,
As though some fiendish faction
          Was poking at my slim knee.
The Priestess sniffing all agog,
Spat out a rat and pollywog
And hopping like a jolly frog,
          She vanished up the chimney.

Don't pay the least attention,
Nor quail with apprehension,
The fortune-telling tension,
          Is not worth book and bell.
Be easy, keep your shirt on,
And let the she wolf squirt on
And flirt along and blurt on
          Paving the way to Hell.

Hell, Hell, Hell!
Lucifer, Prince of Hell,
          Hammer her flat,
          The Witch, the sly cat,
          With a bruise on her slat,
          Foul rat on the bat.
Hammer her down,
Sizzle her brown,
          Oh, that horrible smell!
          Oh, Hell, Hell, Hell!

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