Glenn Beck Muzzles the Horse-Trams and Assembles Grandfatherly Fondness

"Where have you been, Shimmy?"

The branches of the Mayakovsky Tree bowed, trampled by last night's snow. Each branch congealed with crude words and spite.

"Glenn Beck is styling a festive policy," I said. The radiator shuddered. I dipped my puffy eyes.

I stretched out like an apostle rummaging for machine parts and conjugations on the window sill.

"The door opens and you run into the hallway," The Mayakovsky Tree said, flakes clamped to every limb. "The dogs upstairs have moved away. Congratulations, my curly-ringed comrade of posterity! You scared them off. The door opens into the hallway. Where do you go? Where have you been?"

I concocted a pair of hands, a minute little godlet that opened bathtub spigot.

"You shake your head, curlylocks?" the Mayakovsky Tree continued. "The Pit Bull's fangs sharpen, Shimmy. Glenn Beck opened the Pit Bull's mouth as he would the shutters of his own house -- with a 'break' or 'parting' stick used to pry open fighting dogs' mouths during dog fights."

"Glenn Beck commands a glittering brigade of bright helmets, lame cambrics, and shaggy camomiles," I said. I stood hunched by the window and my brow melted the glass.

"His boots are braced against a Pit Bull's ribs. Glenn Beck said, 'If I can muzzle the horse-trams and assemble grandfatherly fondness, I can fill the last voluble television.'"

"As the country's personal canker, Glenn Beck's weeping libido sonatas might sell more books," I said, "but is it worth the price for those dogs (Pit Bulls) he tortured and killed?"

The Mayakovsky Tree leaned his burning cheek into the wind.

"Two can play at the gangway," he said.

"Two can dance and pipe on pipes for days for lack of something to shout or say."

"Glenn Beck is making cruets out of eggshells, Shimmy, and etching them with swans!"