Yvonne Meier's "This Is Not a Pink Pony," at the Abrons Arts Center Brian Harkin for The New York Times This is not a pink pony 1+2 by Yvonne Meier was performed by, from left, Osmani Tellez, Marion Ramirez and Arturo Vidich, at the Abrons Arts Center. The two works both seem improvised, but one uses set choreography. The sounds of gunshots - and laughter - rang through the playhouse of Abrons Arts Center on Thursday as Yvonne Meier remounted her aggressively absurd 2006 work "This is not a pink pony." The plastic deer onstage did not fall, but the three straight-faced screwballs did, many times. Then came the premiere of "This is not a pink pony 2." The pleasure of these pieces flows from their non sequitur logic, a randomness that makes a fuzzy kind of sense. Often the transitions are cued by the music, which in the first part of "pink pony" consists of samples from the soundtrack to David Lynch's film "Lost Highway": David Bowie and Trent Reznor, riddled by that recorded gunfire. Accordingly, there is death. The three fearless dancers - Osmani Tellez, Arturo Vidich and Marion Ramirez - frequently behave like corpses, rolled and dragged and rearranged by whichever of them happens to be standing. They take turns jumping a double-Dutch rope wielded roughly by the other two, a rope that also serves as lasso and whip. They pick fights, wrestle, pull hair, shove and scare one another. It's all good fun. Ms. Ramirez may not be a pink pony, but she does prance in a circle like a show horse in her short paisley dress. She seems uninterested in the advances of the erratically acrobatic Mr. Tellez or Mr. Vidich, a fur-vested village idiot. Rebuffing them, she gives better than she gets, and at the end, when the two men, having donned gorilla suits, carry her off in her underwear, the moment is both ridiculous and a reasonable next step. For the second part, Mr. Vidich, now dressed for a Hawaiian vacation, is joined by Aki Sasamoto, whose itchy plastic poncho causes her to convulse in scratching, and by Jeremy Pheiffer, whose itch-scratching in half-fastened overalls looks like country b-boying. Instead of the visual references to hunting lodges in the first part, there's an aural allusion: selections from the soundtrack to Mr. Lynch's indelibly weird and hilarious TV series, "Twin Peaks." Social conduct is still unruly. The dancers collide and mess with one another, using bodies as rolling pins. The men handle Ms. Sasamoto as careless movers handle a rolled-up carpet. This roughhousing, though, is softened by a suggestion of mood-mellowing pharmaceutical substances, groovy dancing in which fingers are pointed. Mr. Pheiffer's companions bounce his squatting body like a basketball, and all three dancers, lying on their backs like upended beetles, kick to get briefly airborne - a motion at once farcical, pathetic and heroic. According to the press materials, "pink pony 2" is set choreography, while "pink pony 1" is improvisation guided by instructions. It's an indication of the skill of Ms. Meier and her performers, and also a sign of her sensibility and her limitations, that the two parts seem about equally loose, equally slack.