The King of the Blues: a paean to the first bluesman to see his soul to the devil for a set of magic guitar strings (attached); Mechanical Monkey: What do you do when you realize that Life is not on your side?  Despair?  Rant?  Or just sing a song about it?  Features the post-WWII baby boomer toy with the windup chimp who plays cymbals.  Now that's rhythm!  World's Smallest Confederate Veteran: If you've never been to a seedy carnival with toothless carnies and the smell of manure and the Old South, you probably won't recognize this situation.  But I've seen this.  He was a small person (i.e., midget), dressed in a Confederate uniform who told of heroics during the "real war" and sang "Johnny Reb" in a fine tenor voice. Balloon Boy: We all watched the tv.  We were all hoaxed.  Or were we?  In my mind's eye, where any truth I might know faithfully resides, that boy sails on, past the boundary of blue into a pitch-perfect heaven.  We don't all get to see the Rose of Heaven like Dante did in Canto 31 of the Paradiso, but I've seen some pretty good pictures.] This Old World: No irony allowed.  Or intended.  Would I do it all over again if I could.  Of course I would.  And you're a liar or I feel tremendous sorrow for you if you say you wouldn't. Humanzee: A true story.  Sorta.  There was a chimp who was half-human.  48 genes instead of 47.  Walked naturally on his "hind" legs.  Turned up his nose at the other chimps (and vice versa).  Tried to "get it on" with his female "owner" and was banished to a "habitat."  Eventually DNA tests were done to the satisfaction of no one.  He knew he was unique.  This is his song.  With a nod to Franz Kafka's "A Report to the Academy." Queen's Jewels: We could not understand the uncanny if we hadn't lived it.  From the mountain top, the lights of town look like the queen's jewels tossed across the valley floor.  Memory is one of the few true forms of magic. The Ballad of the Minie Ball: Another true story.  If unsubstantiated.  During "the War," a yankee minie ball ricocheted off a rebel's thigh, through his groin, picking up some seed on the way.  It then landed in the waiting womb of a southern belle who just happened to be observing the action.  Nine months later, and as they say, it's all history.  Or as Snopes.com might say, "undetermined." Not with My Life: My attempt at an anthem.  Or at least a statement of principles.  In two minutes and twenty-five seconds.  Anything longer than that and you're either pretentious or fooling yourself. Texas Death Row Blues: a song about the “last of all songs”--sung by Cameron Todd Willingham and countless others, put to death in the execution capital of America.  Not so much anti-Death Penalty as anti-death. Starchild: An apparently true story.  It seems that the dead aliens at Roswell did not die.  They were reborn as humans.  Through occult practice and paranormal psychology, these reincarnated alien-humans have achieved a higher plane of evolution and have a message for us.  If at first you don't succeed, Run like Hell! More Complex: The judge has got dementia.  "He's lost his memory but not his grace."  If you really think that you are you, you're lost.  First Fall Friday Afternoon: Everything is always happening at once.  Poetry is the supreme fiction that you can sort them out sequentially.  Thanks to Miss Ruby, who is my son's busdriver.  Highway 100: The Title song.  From a real occurrence I had driving home on HWY 100.  This guy on a motorcycle goes flying by, followed by this cop car, which almost ran me off the road in pursuit.  I thought I was on my way to eternity as I vaulted over the Harpeth River Bridge, but I landed. Wolfman: For my buddy Marc, who used to have a Lon Chaney, Jr., screensaver and a bit of a temper.  "We've been human for too long."  I think that's a decent refrain. Naked: The final song.  The requiem.  I don't mean to bother anyone.  I just stand here naked with my jug of elderberry wine.