Ontology of a Poem

In which the quick
Brown fox slumps

Not so slyly over
After being

Hounded to death.

Dark Bedtime Story

Them flashing white
Bones down

In the dark stream bed,
They done

Bed down for the night--
Y'all don't fright now--

Sweet dreams,
Good night.

In God We Trust, or Fiefdom in America

The times were vile,
the villagers spent,

torn to pieces
by The Good Lord's rent.

Million Dollar Baby

No more whistling Dixie,
Trixie, the buck stops here--

No more tinsel,
No more razzmatazz,
No more Wall Street
Whizz-kids, no more jazz--

When Eastwood kicks the bucket,
No escape from Alcatraz.

Slaking Our Thirst for Fame

--for John Levy

For the sake of disambiguation,

However we
Lick the flames

Of the fire
Of our vanity,

Red Bull remains
The name of the game.