Is Love
just another
four letter word
given a death sentence?
Is the weight of Hate
greater than a feather?
With Anubis guarding
a mythical entrance
to a heavenly existence?
You’ll need to travel light
if you wish to transcend
beyond the broken ground
of this forsaken Placebo Town
With loud voices
taking away choices
Sometimes too little?
Sometimes too much?
Such is life
in this world of strife
Where they’ll turn
your smile
into a frown
by hanging you
upside down
from the whipping post
known as Placebo Town
“They” . . . being
the men from Area Grey
who program you to say
“Get well soon 😷”
to all the sleepers
wearing fluffy slippers
encased in death’s cocoon
“Lovely to meet you!
… And have a nice day.”
And “You” …
is who?
As your future
is bought and sold
at the market of insecurities
With the master’s apprentice
holding the lever
Your least debt
feeding the much richer
Awake!
For heaven’s sake
there ain’t no winning
this Monopoly game
The Big Shake Down
is played for keeps
in Placebo Town
As for “Me” . . .
me in the East
under that age old yoke
of some new priest
spreading the sacrament
of a religious virus
By force feeding me
his tainted yeast
Yet my stomach is empty
as my skin is brown
But “You” …
you in the West
who in privileged power
play around
with the lives of us
who are gagged and bound
But keep taking it easy
Have a nice rest
For surely Armageddon
is soon a-comin’
to Placebo Town
Is this existence
a swirling vortex
of which I must make sense?
Am I
You
We
all living a pretence
at truth’s expense?
Living and dying just inches
from a sure gate in the fence?
Are we colour
living in contrast?
Or black and white
out of focus?
Just a biological blast
projected onto
some future past?
Am I
Me
True Blue?
Am I to be
well and truly set free
to live in the presence?
Dwelling forever within
the heart and soul
of holy mindfulness?
Providence with a love purpose?
I’m on a divine promise
The Word given
In name
in deed
and in person
The one who
inspires my pen
Who is faithful and true
Honestly… apparently
a loving spoonful of truth
is the right recipe
With integrity
like a hot shot
of espresso coffee
Am I just decaf?
A cold cup of chai latte?
Having been plucked
roasted and ground down
in that infernal place
called Placebo Town
The Lover of beauty
seeking perfection
Finding mercy
in the all knowing
Master Craftsman of Creation
Requiring the giving
and the taking
of an occasional selfie
at the Right & Royal
Navel Gazing Academy
The path of virtuosity
an unexpected journey
The righteous answer
always searching
the altitude of gracious latitude
as all hell
with brakes broken
and the heavens descending
Finding a true friend
Even better
the Salvage Master
A brother with a spare dime
at the Laundromat
of Space and Time
As the Good Samaritan
crosses all tribal lines
Through the headwinds
at the crossroads
the sign of a wonder
From the one
who shadows over
a multitude of crime
Not the rumour of a gossip
from the marketplace
Not a trace!
Not the whisper of a sound
heard through the din
of Placebo Town
The Taker
An alpha predator
climbing from the crater
of wordly power
Just another scavenger
with his pants on fire
is the master’s apprentice
from the golden tower
A silver tongue preaching
to the “Rat Race Choir”
as the All Star Evangelical
guns for hire
strut the catwalk
of a Dog Eat Dog Empire
Where the trained to heel
practised in the art
of the crooked deal
are “Keepin’ it real!”
The cold and the hard
with a frozen smile
given an inch
will take a mile
It’s always peak hour
on the dirty boulevard
of Placebo Town
The Faithkeeper
keeping faith with
the one and only Great Spirit
And with just
an ethereal mantle for cover
upon a wing and a prayer
is prepared
for an evil visitation
A celestial battle
with a skyclad Wayshower
of borrowed power
and under the spell of delusion
Channeling nothing more
than the deepest regret
The mere glimmer
of a haunted shiver
Paper lanterns are being lit
against a twister
deep in the nocturnal hour
Those seekers
upon paths that glitter
in the darkness of night
yet skulk under cover
and flee from the light
bring only the litter
from a spiritual gutter
A subterranean burial mound
There can only ever be
one true path
for the heavenly winner
nirvana bound
in this the final round
As lines of division
are being drawn
on barren ground
with the charred bones
exhumed from the tombs
of Placebo Town
Where might makes right
as the neighbourhood bully
has his very own police force
and military
Where there’s a scarcity
of veracity
Where mercy has gone missing
Yet grace freely taken
but seldom given
by the heirs and graces
of the unforgiving
with their minions of corruption
and industrialised destruction
Where truer words
never are spoken
Where oppression is the weapon
Where loving kindness
is a weakness
Where deception is the poison
malicious and religious
Both domestic and foreign
Where souls are downtrodden
bartered and broken
by the vicious victorious
Yet the stone free
of fomo faux rebellion
running hungry
like angry young Warhols
are couch surfing
with Lady Liberty
in the confusion
of a hollow delusion
called Democracy
Where mystery
is the secret
that mysteriously
keeps raking in money
Like celebrities lecturing
the political correction
Or else overdosing
on the armchair of moralists
ceaselessly trolling
Geriatric politicians
are cashing in
whilst sniffing back a tear
smelling the fear
of a millennial generation
lost in the maze
of online
brand name advertising
Tuning in to the diatribes
of broken pride
from a fallen tribe
taking bids on the side
for the body and soul
of the eternal child bride
In a graveyard breeze
the questions left hanging
As the blind will guide
the gullible to a spirit feasting
Where keyboard warriors
are desperately seeking
the cyber crown
of a fabled kingdom
never to be found
Along with the unctuous
and the funktious
all dwelling
in the cellar
of Placebo Town
The Seafarer
seeking truth
Does all plain sailing
make you a plain sailor?
“A sea journey …
to the heart of darkness!
What could be better?”
Best be prepared
to be boarded and searched
by Captain Alpha Omega
the interstellar traveller
from escalator
to service elevator
on a mission … with permission
my soul to retrieve
Lost in the weave
of a wicked web
A weave so tight
you’d forget how to breathe
One stich at a time
crossing a finite line
As virtue retreats
in the land of giant deceits
going down without a sound
that fashionable plug hole
known as Placebo Town
So down and laid low
past tired and sore
like a piece of junk mail
shoved under death’s door
I felt the flow
of water living
A celestial upwelling
The Spirit uplifting
Heard the whisper
on the wind
like a mighty roar
“Ten Four!”
from above and beyond
and even more
Angels from every angle
in awe and keeping score
The Living God commands
just as death so demands
honesty in absolute totality!
How can any man
born of a woman stand?
Before the shadow surrounds you
with a fear you just can’t see through
look to the Son
… in person
with a clear view
To the One who
is faithful and true
His Kingdom will Come!
The Dinki Di
bursting out from behind
the shadow in your eye
As dark energy
switches back on the lights
from way on high
and dark matter
with glory … reignites
The concealed revealed
Amazing is the grace
as the curtain comes down
on a cold dark place
called Placebo Town
The Pusher
pushing for proof
Is Life a one shot
self inflicted wound
eternity bound
down the barrel of a gun?
In a land of bumper sticker opinions
it seems everybody’s got one
No truth to be found
in Placebo Town
The User
chasing a desperate treasure
beyond hunger’s full measure
Over black seas
under red skies
past the last post
to the hitching rail
Covered in the dust
of a crooked trail
With a past
you just can’t disguise
in word or deed
In need of that
wonder working teflon
There is a strong tower
in the distance
deep within your conscience
longing to give you shelter
With a door
that’s ever open
for the truly fair dinkum
Before you’ve shot
that final viral load
check out the road less taken
out from a petri dish of desolation
When all said and done
look to the Son
Ashes to diamond
His Kingdom Come!
The Believer true
with integrity
you just can’t drill through
The criminal environmental
upon a supernatural mind renewal
Debris free
and out from the putrid puddle
of a mystical puzzle
Now recycling
every blessed molecule
that’s been Injected
moulded and thrown
into that landfill
known as Placebo Town
Life …
for a time
a privilege divine
Recreation
Revelation
A true revolution
Sensual and blissful
the intimate sensation
of celestial happiness
Just beginning
Endless loving the promise
All over flowing
from a wellspring within
Morning sunshine
The infinite sublime
Rivers and streams to cross
from valleys deep
The mountains to climb
in the shadow of your wing
Unity in purpose
A battle yet to win
Motivation service
to the Lord of all Creation
As the bell of truth rings
I’ve still a way to go
till I get to the sea
through all the to and fro
May the road rise
and the waters flow
Hope * Faith * Love
In appreciation of what
an unexpected tomorrow may bring
from the heavens on down
As the crow flies
and the angels sing
severing the last
remaining string
Healing the sting
of that zero ground
called Placebo Town
~ by David B. Redpath © 2018-2020
Photography:
David B. Redpath © 2018-2020
David Redpath 
running around naked when God knew the whole time
what manner of trickery ?
excuses written turn into the village library
children in burlesque
the young Adam
Eve younger
the exciting parts
happened to the author
the actual actors
found themselves
in a hypnotic fog
Adam and Eve in an enormous rhythm
italicized absurdity (not ordinary)
an enormous rhythm of absurdity
forever reality based on the minute
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At the Electric Psychedelic
Pussycat Swinger’s Club,
in Old Placebo Town, I met
an International man of mystery,
who told me that Egyptology
was undoubtedly my destiny.
I just laughed and told him
that he was just a silly clown,
as Isis and I had departed
on terms not the nicest.
And instead of a loving kiss
she had left me
with a disdainful frown.
So we agreed to disagree
and drank daiquiris
till the sun went down.
It was much later that
our Bohemian Gypsy waitress
warned us to go run and hide,
as Queen Nefertiti’s dead body
had just been found.
The police, and the press,
all said that it was no suicide.
I was innocent of course.
But that doesn’t
seem to matter much
in old Placebo Town,
where the great Kings
of the long forgotten past
are all buried under ground.
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He was unique
but silent about his uniqueness
Eve whispered that he was sterile
perhaps having overworked his youth
knowing oneself to be awake and alive
a snazzy creature of the outer world
functional in a dislocated manner
a momentary moment on earth
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Fluid compression
in a mammal skin organ
The concious mutation
of a cosmos awakening
Seeing
Touching
Hearing
Feeling
All creation
Adam and Eve
Just the seed
of a grand cosmic plan
“The forces of the universe
And the elements of space
Conjured up your being
Your size, your time, your shape
You were created
With all the beauty they could call
And earth, you surely are
The measure of them all
You’re rocks all turned to gold
And your ti-iny stones to jewels
And when your swirlin’
It’s that clear you stood so pure
And placed so carefully
Each and everything that belonged
Earth you were magnificent
Through the pain of bein’ born
It was the morning of the earth
Hal-le-lu-Jah!
It was the morning of the earth
From the tallest mountain
To the smallest drop of rain
Each and everything created
Was of the new world
It was the morning of the earth
Hal-le-lu-Jah!”
~G Wayne Thomas
“In Grimm’s fairy tales, you kiss a
frog and in two seconds, it becomes
a prince. That is a fairy tale. In
evolution, you kiss a frog and in two
million years, it becomes a prince.”
~ D. Kennedy
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no one had mastered the idiom of the English language
PLACEBO TOWN:
double negatives, redundant crap, non-dictionary words
assuming that other people
are just cubbyholes
waiting to be filled
(+) flexible lover wanted
new people with their rush of words
new directions with talent
no purrs or barks please
mentally puzzled
sleeping potions
for unanswered questions
easy cipher lovers penetrable
at first sight
intensely lyrical
love by the clock
or by the calendar ?
—————————–reality
without source, center point or purpose
reality with a sleeping narrator
a recurrence of sounds and smells
the letter of the law refers to it as ENTRAPMENT
the ugly side of valentines and candy hearts
verbal schemes of lawyers
the dreary actualities of romance
the dreary actualities of marriage
treasures out of reach
the procedure made dirty
she told your mother
and your sisters
about your dong
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I just dont recognise
this Jesus
of Placebo Town suburbia
White skin and blue eyes
The icon of some religion
where those out
of the mind numbing ordinary
and not playing the game
will be freely victimised
for daring to buck the system
“I’m the son of rage and love
The Jesus of Suburbia
The bible of none of the above
On a steady diet of
Soda Pop and Ritalin
No one ever died for my
Sins in hell
As far as I can tell
At least the ones that I got away with
And there’s nothing wrong with me
This is how I’m supposed to be
In a land of make believe
That don’t believe in me
Get my television fix
Sitting on my crucifix
The living room in my private womb
While the Moms and Brads are away
To fall in love and fall in debt
To alcohol and cigarettes
And Mary Jane
To keep me insane
Doing someone else’s cocaine
And there’s nothing wrong with me
This is how I’m supposed to be
In a land of make believe
That don’t believe in me
At the center of the earth
In the parking lot
Of the 7-11 where I was taught
The motto was just a lie
It says home is where your heart is
But what a shame
Cause everyone’s heart
Doesn’t beat the same
It’s beating out of time
City of the dead
At the end of another lost highway
Signs misleading to nowhere
City of the damned
Lost children with dirty faces today
No one really seems to care
I read the graffiti
In the bathroom stall
Like the holy scriptures
of a shopping mall
And so it seemed to confess
It didn’t say much
But it only confirmed that
The center of the earth
Is the end of the world
And I could really care less
City of the dead
At the end of another lost highway
Signs misleading to nowhere
City of the damned
Lost children with dirty faces today
No one really seems to care
I don’t care if you don’t
I don’t care if you don’t
I don’t care if you don’t care
I don’t care
Everyone’s so full of shit
Born and raised by hypocrites
Hearts recycled but never saved
From the cradle to the grave
We are the kids of war and peace
From Anaheim to the Middle East
We are the stories and disciples of
The Jesus of suburbia
Land of make believe
And it don’t believe in me
Land of make believe
And I don’t believe
And I don’t care!
Dearly beloved are you listening?
I can’t remember
a word that you were saying
Are we demented or am I disturbed?
The space that’s in between insane and insecure
Oh therapy, can you please fill the void?
Am I retarded or am I just overjoyed
Nobody’s perfect and I stand accused
For lack of a better word,
and that’s my best excuse
To live, and not to breathe
Is to die, in tragedy
To run, to run away
To find, what you believe
And I leave behind
This hurricane of fucking lies
I lost my faith to this
This town that don’t exist
So I run, I run away
To the lights of masochists
And I, leave behind
This hurricane of fucking lies
And I, walked this line
A million and one fucking times
But not this time
I don’t feel any shame
I wont apologize
When there ain’t nowhere you can go
Running away from pain
When you’ve been victimized
Tales from another broken home
Oh you’re leaving
You’re leaving
You’re leaving
Are you leaving home?”
~ Green Day
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Placebo Town
for reasons unknown
blind children were forced to attend
Sunday School in the basement
served institutionalized food
when everyone else
devoured the home-style
blessings of Aunt Bea
(famous for telling her husband that only the dead
wear shoes in bed)
undesirables
were forced to sit
on the outer ring
far from the stove
hardly able to hold
a prayer book
with frozen
hands
the only thing I know
about religion
I learned from thieves
baby-nappers
and murderers
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I do try my best to not let
the ostentatious religious ,
and overtly self-righteous,
get between me and Christ.
Otherwise … I’m allowing
a hypocrite to be closer
to God than me 😎
“But understand this, that in the
last days there will come times
of difficulty. For people will be
lovers of self, lovers of money,
proud, arrogant, abusive,
disobedient to their parents,
ungrateful, unholy, heartless,
unappeasable, slanderous, without
self-control, brutal, not loving good,
treacherous, reckless, swollen with
conceit, lovers of pleasure rather
than lovers of God, having the
appearance of godliness, but
denying its power.
Avoid such people.”
~ John the Apostle
“For by grace you have been
saved through faith, and that
not of yourselves; it is the gift
of God, not of works, lest
anyone should boast.”
~ Paul of Tarsus
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Paul McCartney
on the cover of Abbey Road
Barefoot
dressed for a burial
and escorted
to the other side
by the Fab Trinity
🎶 So Sgt. Pepper
took you by surprise
You better see right through
that mother’s eyes
Those freaks was right
when they said you was dead
The one mistake you made
was in your head
You live with straights
who tell you, you was king
Jump when your momma
tell you anything
The only thing you done
was yesterday
And since you’re gone
you’re just another day
A pretty face may last
a year or two
But pretty soon
they’ll see what you can do
The sound you make
is muzak to my ears
You must have learned
something in all those years
Ah, how do you sleep
Ah, how do you sleep at night 🎶
~ John Lennon
Whose grace and forgiveness
knew no bounds ☮️
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Main Street Placebo Town
a painful series of self-justifications
a living lost and found
of dissociated sensuality
fancy ribbons around knobs
the pangs of pleasure and pain
fingers helped push what little inside
they spoke of it as halving but it was more
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With our backs
to the wall
we lucky few
stood our ground
against the powers
and principalities
of Placebo Town
Till finally
a dreaded knight
wearing a flaming crown
mortally wounded
my closest ally
and truest brother
A tactical retreat
was soon ordered
by the Giver of Light
to flee for another day
to resume the fight
So I took to flight
upon the wings
of the night
Counting the cost
yet not all was lost
I still had that lust
for freedom’s plight
As the Most High
was most patient
and kept me in sight
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eating canned food in a backroom
no longer materialistic
he listened to old Dylan tunes
“Mr. Tambourine Man”
music to render living thought
something more than isolated sentences
one hand was functional
the other was base camp
for his active senses
ones he gratified
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On the turning away
From the pale and downtrodden
And the words they say
Which we won’t understand
“Don’t accept that what’s happening
Is just a case of others’ suffering
Or you’ll find that you’re joining in
The turning away”
It’s a sin that somehow
Light is changing to shadow
And casting it’s shroud
Over all we have known
Unaware how the ranks have grown
Driven on by a heart of stone
We could find that we’re all alone
In the dream of the proud
On the wings of the night
As the daytime is stirring
Where the speechless unite
In a silent accord
Using words you will find are strange
And mesmerized as they light the flame
Feel the new wind of change
On the wings of the night
No more turning away
From the weak and the weary
No more turning away
From the coldness inside
Just a world that we all must share
It’s not enough just to stand and stare
Is it only a dream that there’ll be
No more turning away?
~ Dave Gilmour / Anthony Moore
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before Noah and his Ark made camp
there was howling on the earth
barbarians and their pets
were established
no break in evil
weeds were quick to grow around the empty Ark
uncertainty, apprehension, raw emotional conflict
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a thousand children
each a living lost and found
products of dissociated passions
parents with standup legs and thumbs
interior agitation with fancy genital vents
no one can say God didn’t know
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It really is
a dirty rotten shame
what’s been done
in God’s holy name.
And what’s more,
as if that wasn’t enuff,
is all the stuff
left at God’s door.
Especially since
there’s a fallen angel
who’s to blame.
Better known
around Placebo Town
as Lucifer … or Satan.
And he’s playing
a low down game.
“For my thoughts
are not your thoughts,
neither are your ways
my ways,”
declares the Lord.
“As the heavens are higher
than the earth,
so are my ways higher
than your ways
and my thoughts
than your thoughts.”
~ Isaiah
“You will seek me and find me
when you seek me with all your heart.”
~ Jeremiah
“I love those who love me,
and those who seek me find me.”
~ King Solomon
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Patsy Cline stopped by today
trying to pick a fight
she wanted a quick $50
to get some diet pills
I gave her $100
and asked for a share
later when she showed up
she helped give the cat a bath
every now and then
a twinge of common-sense
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Patsy Cline went crazy
and fell to pieces
when I asked her nicely
to do the dishes
(I blame those little
weight loss pills)
So I gave her a bunch
of poor man’s roses
being ever so kind
and went out walkin’
till after midnight
with leavin’ on my mind
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it wasn’t Patsy’s fault
that the airplane fell from the sky
the pain and guilt made her think of her father
the old face-hugger had his moments on memory lane
ear wax that stank and dry thin lips like a dead fish
the doctors said that he was totally to blame
but she knew how the baby got there
the magic of being with a man
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some say that three rivers flow through Placebo Town
Charlie Zero and I lived near the Harlem River
pill-popping and Nine Inch Nails
just a 100 feet from the landing
where the dead were dropped
no oxygen for lungs to churn
FARTHER DOWN THE WAY
the Worm was baptizing
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her reflection with naked knees spread
Patsy knew the shock-of-recognition
sometimes it hurt and seemed wrong
passive in the path of ruin
rigorously tossed about
daddy was problematic
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Daddy issues flow
to the jack hammer beat
of the Harlem Shuffle
A conveyor belt
of glow in the dark meat
The carnival
is in Placebo Town
From boardroom down
Tricks on the street
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just think —-a conveyor belt
pushing a continuous line of Jehovah’s Witnesses
to the entrance on the other side of the river
infernal vacation brochures in hand
wolves ready to drag the children off
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The werewolves
of tribal religion
are ever on the prowl
sniffing the ground
of Placebo Town
With each new victim
you can hear them howl
Lock up your daughters
Lock up your sons too
Those werewolves
of abomination
will do to them
what they did to you
A Babylon Confession
for the once bitten
joining the pack
with a full moon rising
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in Placebo Town
the narrator is often fragile
fragile in a difficult theater
where Merriam fingered thoughts
of a dictionary
a dictionary
downward to
darkness
a dictionary of
relentless memories
broken teeth/frozen smiles
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The word virus
of evolving conciousness
from thought ashes
and memory dust
will outlive
the foolish tongue
and the swords hasty thrust.
The venerated orator,
at the veniversum centre,
whispers, “Know thyself…
for who else can you trust?
And if you ever stray
down Placebo Town way
… Nothing in excess!”
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Dylan came out on stage with wet semen in his shorts
singing about the virus that has sharp nails
honey sweet cakes, not just any virus
the one of evolving consciousness
a wind devil in memory dust
a thrust of the sword
that hangs over
the foolish
tongue
+++++
THE CRY OF THE UNJUSTLY PUNISHED
the self-contradiction of an excess
mathematical meth by spoon
“I want some more”
(+) frequently
misspelled
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I can dress up your wounds
With a blood-clotted rag
I ain’t afraid to make love
To a bitch or a hag
If you see me comin’
And you’re standing there
Wave your handkerchief
In the air
I ain’t dead yet
My bell still rings
I keep my fingers crossed
Like them early Roman kings
~ Bob Dylan
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Far between sundown’s finish
an’ midnight’s broken toll
We ducked inside the doorway,
thunder crashing
As majestic bells of bolts
struck shadows in the sounds
Seeming to be the chimes
of freedom flashing
Flashing for the warriors
whose strength is not to fight
Flashing for the refugees
on the unarmed road of flight
An’ for each an’ ev’ry underdog
soldier in the night
An’ we gazed upon the chimes
of freedom flashing
Through the city’s melted furnace, unexpectedly we watched
With faces hidden
as the walls were tightening
As the echo of the wedding bells
before the blowin’ rain
Dissolved into the bells
of the lightning
Tolling for the rebel,
tolling for the rake
Tolling for the luckless,
the abandoned an’ forsakened
Tolling for the outcast,
burnin’ constantly at stake
An’ we gazed upon the chimes
of freedom flashing
Through the mad mystic hammering
of the wild ripping hail
The sky cracked its poems
in naked wonder
That the clinging of the church bells
blew far into the breeze
Leaving only bells of lightning
and its thunder
Striking for the gentle,
striking for the kind
Striking for the guardians
and protectors of the mind
An’ the poet and the painter
far behind his rightful time
An’ we gazed upon the chimes
of freedom flashing
In the wild cathedral evening
the rain unraveled tales
For the disrobed faceless forms
of no position
Tolling for the tongues
with no place to bring their thoughts
All down in taken-for-granted situations
Tolling for the deaf an’ blind,
tolling for the mute
For the mistreated, mateless mother,
the mistitled prostitute
For the misdemeanor outlaw,
chaineded an’ cheated by pursuit
An’ we gazed upon the chimes
of freedom flashing
Even though a cloud’s white curtain
in a far-off corner flared
An’ the hypnotic splattered mist
was slowly lifting
Electric light still struck like arrows,
fired but for the ones
Condemned to drift
or else be kept from drifting
Tolling for the searching ones,
on their speechless, seeking trail
For the lonesome-hearted lovers
with too personal a tale
An’ for each unharmful, gentle soul misplaced inside a jail
An’ we gazed upon the chimes
of freedom flashing
Starry-eyed an’ laughing
as I recall when we were caught
Trapped by no track of hours
for they hanged suspended
As we listened one last time
an’ we watched with one last look
Spellbound an’ swallowed
’til the tolling ended
Tolling for the aching
whose wounds cannot be nursed
For the countless confused, accused,
misused, strung-out ones an’ worse
An’ for every hung-up person
in the whole wide universe
An’ we gazed upon the chimes
of freedom flashing
~ Bob Dylan
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the family learned to live with
the backbiting, recriminations, accusations
farts that smelled like plastic explosives
visions of having the tonsils ripped out
a finger removed with scissors
the notched coldness
of a zipper
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The culture club
of Placebo Town
is Primal Militarism
Karma Chameleons
dancing to the tune
of tribal imperialism
The citizens
are most proud
of this long tradition
of synchronised killing
With recent advances
in mass production
the invitation is open
to women and children
All chanting,
“Peace … HELL NO!
Let’s go, Placebo!”
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each member of the family
was a half-fallen tree
——-fears of a thick-weaving virus
medical mispronunciations
medical misspellings
a single sneeze
a simple cough
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I went home
with a waitress
The way I sometimes do
How was I to know
That she had the Chinese Flu
Scrounging all around
Placebo Town
I took a little risk
A big fix of disinfectant
Laying under a UV lamp
Now I can’t feel my pulse
… Hey
Send doctors, nurses,
And a respirator
Get me out of this
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People simple
People complex
People estranged
With abstract concepts
People deranged
And arranged at night clubs
Like crime scene evidence
People with pupils dilated
And syllables senseless
Staccato Notes
Given a death sentence
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people arranged
at the family table
praying for a miracle
outside the chalk outlines
an entry in the journal of a bubonic junkie
“the first swelling” with dry dilated pupils
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thinking back on the first time
you saw the high-tide line
on her thigh
she told you crazy things
that her family were native Americans
their lifestyles little more than dirty limericks
deceased native Americans
wrapped in skin like a sausage
lubricated and inserted
into the backside of Perry Como
+++++++++++++
driftwood in the pubic hair
and she tries to ignite herself
you suddenly realize
that you’re a 180 pound
Zippo lighter
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Bob Dylan posters
on most empty store fronts
Placebo Town in the new Stones video
living in a ghost town having failed to cease
praise falls from the sky—–no body knows why
the watered down children of native Americans no longer complain
they no longer think about or fear the welcoming anus of Perry Como
+++++++++++++++
as perverted as it sounds
one day Perry will take a most Holy Dump
and a new Adam and Eve family will shoot forth
no famine or disease just happiness and good will
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I wanted to take the pills
I had them in my hand
I had them in my heart
the exit, the way home
just a swallow
my run of thoughts made audible
meanderings and small town clichés
holiday gifts:
(+) sensitivity
(+) poetic proclivities
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——indifference to the sufferings of others——
only the comatose are free of backward stabs of habit
putting others face to face with harm
foreskins shrivel back then fall off
the clothespins much too strong
a man is not a man
without a dong
——————-a working dong, a welcome smile
——————-blubbering seniors asked to exit
many things Adam refused to describe
many things went without a name
Eve often walked around blank
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on late night TV, comedians say things like
“if Eve were alive today she would be busy
purchasing frozen shrimp dinners
at Dollar Stores”
readers in Kentucky often ask me
“who came first, Adam or Jesus”
I often think about the Bread of Revelation
how Satan collects dust
from all the decomposed bodies
that harbor on earth
and makes a loaf of bread
that he feeds to his army
why would I think about that ?
(+) biblical optimism in the apocalyptic soap opera
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just imagine a world
lobotomized by a virus
citizens suffering tension
the need to conceal, the urge to reveal
a piece of information with nothing to lose
xxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxx
the silly poets put the virus in a cabaret
to sing songs to humiliate husbands
to divorce any and all inspiration
daughters of the dirty deed
do and live, do and control
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The culture of Placebo Town,
is Comatose Post-Rigor Mortis.
Dirty deeds are done dirt cheap
by the graffiti artist, and renowned
brutalist, SpongeBob SquarePants.
Who now lives in a Placebo Palace,
as even his excreted waste fetches
a very high price. The lost Zeitgeist,
of Tomorrow Past, convulses and
retches in a half empty glass.
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better to vomit in a half empty glass
than a half full one
++++++++++++
nosy and puritanical neighbors
senior citizen art critic types
the racking cries of pain and pleasure
drift over from the Honeymoon Hotel
couples who found companionship in a tavern
sexually frank females, voracious on top
it was always “Daddy-Daddy” till the ring
the accomplishment—nothing serious (STD)
a sign in the john reads: “impropriety welcomes warts”
++++++++++++
people get paid to hand out the address and phone number
of a doctor who will freeze off those genital growths
destitute college grads hand out the advertisements
old strippers with protruding vaginal sheaths
and completely wrecked rectums
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Rigor Mortis of the penis
that crazy movie where the woman
rides her dead boyfriend and gets pregnant
she leaves his body in the bed
and it turns black
++++++++++
most people don’t know
that the stiffness of death
only lasts three or four days
(poets and employees at the funeral home)
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Was that the movie
staring Mick Jagger?
His performance
in ‘Performance’ was better
than in ‘Ned Kelly’.
As he didn’t have that certain
heavy saddlebag swagger
of a real Aussie bushranger 😎
More the strut of a stoner
with a sticky finger.
I think he did it for the money 🤑
“If you start me up
If you start me up
I’ll never stop
You can start me up
I’ve been running hot
You got me ticking
going to blow my top
If you start me up
I’ll never stop
Spread out the oil,
the gasoline
I walk smooth,
ride in a mean,
mean machine
Start it up
If you start it up
Kick on the starter
Give it all you got,
I can’t compete
with the riders
in the other heats
If you rough it up
If you like it,
I can slide it up
My eyes dilate,
my lips go green
My hands are greasy
She’s a mean,
mean machine
Start it up
Start me up
Ah, give it all you got
You got to never stop
Slide it up, baby,
just slide it up
Ride like the wind
at double speed
I’ll take you places
that you’ve never seen
If you start it up
Love the day
when we will never stop
Tough me up
Never stop
You make a grown man cry
You made a dead man come”
~Mick Jagger/Keith Richards
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can’t stop thinking about that country western song
“Ruby don’t paint your Rigor Mortis red”
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That song by Kenny McCormick,
from South Park?
I heard that he’s finally dead.
I guess he’s countin’ his money
now that the dealin’s done.
R.I.P. Kenny
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having been infamous in the past
NOW
they are minutes from discovering my identity
I’ve asked advice but will advice come ?
busloads of Japanese tourists
will battle over my remains
possibly making wind chimes
from my bones
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“It is the business of the future to
be dangerous; and it is among the
merits of science that it equips
the future for its duties.”
~Alfred North Whitehead
A stateless person
of no visible means
nor recognisable religion
fleeing Placebo Town.
Another desperado on the run
The wanted poster read,
“Do Not Approach.
This Man is Known
to Carry a Gun!”
I just scratched my head
as I didn’t even own one.
But they got one thing right
as the poster finally said,
“This bad boy just
wants to have fun.”
Below the glass ceiling
of Placebo Town,
where truth is unwelcome,
reality is but a fleeting
and uncomfortable sensation.
The ceaseless itch
of a torn spiritual stitch
always demanding
much self medication
(It helps a little
to be very rich).
That empty void
ever crying out
for a mind numbing filling.
The prescription pad of love
patiently waiting.
“For I know the thoughts that I think
toward you, says the Lord, thoughts
of peace and not of evil, to give you
a future and a hope.”
~ Book of Jeremiah
“I keep asking that the God of our Lord
Jesus Christ, the glorious Father, may
give you the Spirit of wisdom and revelation, so that you may know him better.I pray that the eyes of your heart
may be enlightened in order that you
may know the hope to which he has
called you, the riches of his glorious inheritance in his holy people, and his incomparably great power for us who believe. That power is the same as the mighty strength.”
~ Paul of Tarsus
For God so loved the world that he
gave his one and only Son, that
whoever believes in him shall not
perish but have eternal life.
~ Book of John
He is the exact living image
[the essential manifestation] of the
unseen God [the visible representation
of the invisible], the firstborn
[the preeminent one, the sovereign,
and the originator] of all creation.
For by Him all things were created in
heaven and on earth, [things] visible
and invisible, whether thrones or
dominions or rulers or authorities;
all things were created and exist
through Him [that is, by His activity]
and for Him. And He Himself existed and is before all things, and in Him all
things hold together. [His is the controlling, cohesive force of the universe.]
~ Paul, the Apostle [Amplified]
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to be accused of being a poet
could have deadly results
lazy in a workaday world
the only cowboy
with a jeweled
revolver
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Self indulgence
is it’s own injustice
Living to work
working to live
for food and board
A pat on the head
from the walking dead
your greatest reward
Self expression
a cosmic revolution
Freedom beyond
the captive horde
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“The real giants have always been
poets, men who have jumped from
facts into the realm of imagination.”
– Bill Bernbach
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Placebo Town
home of the Church of the Holy Sepulcher
if one slips the guard $10
one can kiss
the spot where the True Cross was planted
I tried to explain it to some Russian soldiers
but they were only interested in the price of fox fur
Placebo Town has a huge black market in furs
everything passes through town
from tabby kittens to snow leopards
20 years ago one could purchase true rhino horn
vagrants lonely for companionship
having cultivated a thick exterior
fear no germs or ailments
all acts of love involve jabbing
the more brutal they jab
the less they feel
HIPS or LIPS
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The wildlife wet markets
of Placebo Town
is where The Velvet Underground
got their sound
It took David Bowie’s harmony
to then transform it into money
In the City of Angels
a snow white succubus
nearly did Bowie in
sucking the life out of him
with a silver spoon
and a quick LA fix
So Bowie took up his cross
and fled for Berlin
From then on
he was never without
his golden crucifix
The Sex Pistols were born
fully deformed in London
screaming class warfare revenge
with the noise of used syringes
and rusty razor blades
perforating human skin
But that shooting gallery sound
was stolen by Malcolm McLaren
from a beauty parlour
for seasick sailors
located in Placebo Town
Where a statue has been erected
of Sid Vicious and Johnny Rotten
“I wanted to believe me.
I wanted to be good.
I wanted no distractions.
Like every good boy should,
my-my.
Nothing will corrupt us.
Nothing will compete.
Thank God heaven left us
Standing on our feet.”
~ David Bowie
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the final episodes of the Passion of Christ
was it four or five ?
the postcard shows Mary
arranging irises in a vase
Mary is never transparent
a cautionary note:
do not discuss
the subject
of abnormality
(speak not of the magnetism of Mary)
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a subcommittee
on what action to take
Sid Vicious with his musical talent
it was enough to make people nervous
he was given a dose of the Hong Kong Flu
but he was just too lewd for such a lightweight virus
much like when the entire Soviet Union moved to America
and went belly up, not prepared for the nonstop demand for funds
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in lower Placebo Town
the vice squad have stopped
showing their dongs in the latrine
and are focusing on measuring distances
God help you if you’re short of six feet brother
of course, there are those who pussyfoot
lazy people with their half measures
to ensure the public interest
is being served
they maim
offenders
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George Michael
couldn’t
be woken up
after taking a placebo
Just another
high flying tall poppy
copping a low blow
takin’ his love to town
where the big knobs hangout
under flashing neon
Lust placed in a line up
by that fighter of crime
the renowned Jungle Jim
His guilty feet
covered in rhythm
Don’t forget
to turn the lights out
before you go-go
No need to shout
Michael is a no-show
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I PHOTOCOPIED ART
now art is erasing my history
all the Googling, the Wikipedia
no longer myself—I’m someone else
the same sex partner of Sherlock Holmes
on a subatomic level back to Noah and his wife
if one were to view my insides—particles from the Ark
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I saw Tennessee Williams cross the street naked
he was carrying a cage with a colorful bird
it was all swagger and swearing
impotent behind bars
powerful wings
ready to escape
to be misunderstood and locked up
a thousand thoughts with no bridge to cross
lovers across the way living so much more openly
waving and screaming, “we love your chubby dong”
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I was caught
in the headlights
of a red hot Ferrari
Was I up to this
high octane
engine capacity?
Built like a Formula One
Engineered for fun
A model made to party
With piston rings of fire
that roadster named Desire
was faster than a bullet
from an assassin’s gun
In his day
Tennessee Williams
had his way
But all I can say
is that Desire had me
like a rabbit on the run
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THAT COLOR RED THAT COLOR RED FERRARI RED
every drop of my family’s blood
hung upside down
till the buckets were full
it took a true measure to make that red
THAT COLOR RED THAT COLOR RED FERRARI RED
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“I am the mother of sorrows,
I am the ender of grief”
~ Paul Lawrence Dunbar
When my baby
is walking down the street
I see red, I see red, I see red
How can someone wicked
walk around free
I see red, I see red, I see red
You gave me
such precious hours
What to do without you
Squeezed me out of your life
Down the drain
like molten toothpaste
I feel used and spat out
Poor old me
When my baby
is walking down the street
I see red, I see red, I see red
How can someone wicked
walk around free
I see red, I see red, I see red
I am fed up with crying
My despair is drying
Draining into rage day by day
Green before you met me
In the pink
when you let me love you
I was blue
when you let me down
Black and blue
When my baby
is walking down the street
I see red, I see red, I see red
How can someone wicked
walk around free
I see red, I see red, I see red
~ Spit Enz
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WHEN I SAW Tennessee Williams CROSS THE STREET NAKED
I wanted to be him
I wanted my lover to be colorful
to set my bird free
from the room under the elevator
no, I’m not complaining
I’m warm and safe
having learned to enjoy
the sounds of the others
scoot up and down
doing God knows what
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the shroud of darkness
walled in by curtains of romance
bruised, battered, and bound
rendered into marriage
well-guarded female parts
naked before your eyes
naked for the first time
you ask yourself,
“what do I do now ?”
the strange weave of hair
ribbons of flesh in a wad
the colors are there
but they seem wrong
—————-this strange beast
the daughter of Eve
Sherlock suggested that she might
be a mascot of Moriarty’s gang
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in bed with this strange creature
a woman, perhaps a daughter of Eve
Sherlock whispered in my ear after many tokes
“she’s been resurfaced but I know that face”
on a late night playbill
it was her
“a mascot of Moriarty’s gang”
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My second mother
was a pole dancer
of mixed ancestry
Her mother was a Gypsy
and her father
a Chief of the Gurindji
A Sharon Tate of ill fate
with an Australian accent
who couldn’t resist my dad
a regular Crocodile Polanski
She would parade all around
the streets of Placebo Town
driving the boys crazy
with her Miami tan
wearing nothing but a bikini
A gold digger
of the highest order
I shall never forget
the lessons she taught me
For now she resides
in the Colony of Leprosy
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Casanova Powder of Placebo Town
renegade chemistry
for the dong
unsealed people moving in a reproductive manner
characters who say that they believe in the Lord
alive and living yet to be born
going to B-Town for birth
Jesus beating with a life
of his own
lost but following the arrows
carved on the rocks
not knowing they
point in both
directions
the labor pains of literature
repellant words there
the honeymoon
no more than
a paragraph
copulation
with a male pimple
squeezed in the name
I-NEED-YOU-TO-SQUIRT
IF-WE’RE-GOING-TO-MAKE-THIS-WORK
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alive and living yet to be born
Jesus going to B-Town for birth
odd that he never took a single step
I asked God about this
but he made no comment
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“Jesus did many other things as well.
If every one of them were written down,
I suppose that even the whole world
would not have room for the books
that would be written.”
~ John, the Disciple
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rumor was that she had the largest
electric bill in Placebo Town
when I got up close and personal
and saw the size of her porch lights
Lord, the rumor must be true
(the monologue in private)
expressing her desperate plea
for a second chance
scenes behind her closed eyes
seemed more real
than any stage act
or written words
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sometimes I get little favors granted
for sweeping up the litter of second chances
I’m not saying that reality is real
but I’ve been upstairs
I know Jesus I know the Lord
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“Have this same attitude in yourselves
which was in Christ Jesus [look to Him
as your example in selfless humility], who, although He existed in the form
and unchanging essence of God.
[as One with Him, possessing the
fullness of all the divine attributes—
the entire nature of deity], did not regard
equality with God a thing to be grasped
or asserted [as if He did not already
possess it, or was afraid of losing it]; but
emptied Himself [without renouncing or
diminishing His deity, but only
temporarily giving up the outward
expression of divine equality and His rightful dignity] by assuming the form
of a bond-servant, and being made in
the likeness of men [He became
completely human but was without sin,
being fully God and fully man]. After He
was found in [terms of His] outward
appearance as a man [for a divinely-appointed time], He humbled
Himself [still further] by becoming
obedient [to the Father] to the point of
death, even death on a cross. For this
reason also [because He obeyed and so
completely humbled Himself], God has
highly exalted Him and bestowed on Him
the name which is above every name, so
that at the name of Jesus every knee
shall bow [in submission], of those who
are in heaven and on earth and under
the earth, and that every tongue will
confess and openly acknowledge that
Jesus Christ is Lord (sovereign God),
to the glory of God the Father.”
~ Paul, the Apostle
“The iron hand
it ain’t no match
for the iron rod
The strongest wall
will crumble and fall
to a mighty God
For all those who have eyes
and all those who have ears
It is only He
who can reduce me to tears
Don’t you cry and don’t you die
and don’t you burn
Like a thief in the night,
he’ll replace wrong with right
When he returns.
Truth is an arrow
and the gate is narrow
that is passes through
He unreleased His power
at an unknown hour
that no one knew
How long can I listen to
the lies of prejudice ?
How long can I stay drunk on fear
out in the wilderness ?
Can I cast it aside,
all this loyalty and this pride ?
Will I ever learn
that there’ll be no peace,
that the war won’t cease
Until He returns ?
Surrender your crown
on this blood-stained ground,
take off your mask
He sees your deeds,
He knows your needs
even before you ask
How long can you falsely
and deny
what is real ?
How long can you hate yourself
for the weakness you conceal ?
Of every earthly plan
that be known to man,
He is unconcerned
He’s got plans of his own
to set up His throne
When He returns”
~ Bob, the Dylan
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having never had sex
I ask a lot of questions
is it the intensity of the moment ?
does one step outside themselves like a hermit crab from its shell ?
are there really fireworks ?
the resentment of living in a world full of controls
acquaintances wear costumes and false smiles
when cornered by the monster
the baby gets tossed
to save the family
human attachments
have no place in nature
fascinating psychoanalytical reading on the commode
the trauma of maternal love withdrawal
here today gone tomorrow
12 years of rudeness
they call school
“what did you exchange for a walk on part ?”
old men playing rock and roll appliances
Beatle wigs with fake teeth
and the discomfort
of John Lennon
broken
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guitars that have no strings
Beatle wigs replaced with shaved heads
fake teeth or real teeth no one knows
Lennon no longer Lennon
after all, he was just a pet
his wife had a very special hole
a gift from Satan for that
gun fired signature
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There is a clash
The Shaven heads
Of Baal’s priests
And assorted beasts
Of craven idols
All counting their cash
The best saved for last
Imagine a mystical tour
Where a lifetime
Of the Plastic Ono Band
Is inserted up your arse
A Grand Tour to the past
For a final planetary bash
With the undeserving worst
Hippies lining up
For a metallic
hip replacement
And a morphine blast
No Apocalypso Zombie
No respirator or face mask
No placebo wannabe
A Retirement Wonderland
That could never last
“London calling
to the faraway towns
Now war is declared
and battle come down
London calling
to the underworld
Come out of the cupboard,
you boys and girls
London calling,
now don’t look to us
Phony Beatlemania
has bitten the dust
London calling,
see we ain’t got no swing
Except for the ring
of the truncheon thing
The ice age is coming,
the sun’s zooming in
Meltdown expected,
the wheat is growing thin
Engines stop running,
but I have no fear
‘Cause London is drowning
I live by the river
London calling
to the imitation zone
Forget it, brother,
you can go it alone
London calling
to the zombies of death
Quit holding out
and draw another breath
London calling
and I don’t want to shout
But while we were talking,
I saw you nodding out
London calling,
see we ain’t got no high
Except for that one
with the yellowy eye
The ice age is coming,
the sun’s zooming in
Engines stop running,
the wheat is growing thin
A nuclear era,
but I have no fear
‘Cause London is drowning,
I live by the river
Now get this
London calling,
yes, I was there, too
And you know what they said?
Well, some of it was true
London calling
at the top of the dial
And after all this,
won’t you give me a smile?
I never felt so much alike”
~ The Clash
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having never
asked questions
I had a lot of sex
a bad boy for love
always taking his medicine
until some cosmic mutation
took me beyond the horizon
to another dimension
as coloured vibrations
danced amongst
the timeless ancestors
a kaleidoscopic celebration
and for every question
there was a myriad of answers
with an all star cast
casting glimmering vibrations
all paths leading
in the one direction
an altar of strobing variations
but Jesus the Christ
was nowhere to be found
in that brightly lit place
of angelic deceptions
I came down
without a sound
then spend years
tracking the tears
that smeared
the painted facade
of Placebo Town
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some say that they measure your dream time
the average citizen, an unsealed envelope
the battle between transgressive urges
and the desire to suppress them
prison sleeps at your front door
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today I saw Bob Dylan
riding a three-wheel bike
wheezing and singing FOLK
almost 100, twenty years ago
Bob Dylan in middle-class underwear
the stuffiness of $700 socks unknown
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“A worried man
with a worried mind
No one in front of me
and nothing behind
There’s a woman on my lap
and she’s drinking champagne
Got white skin,
got assassin’s eyes
I’m looking up
into the sapphire tinted skies
I’m well dressed,
waiting on the last train
Standing on the gallows
with my head in a noose
Any minute now I’m expecting
all hell to break loose
People are crazy
and times are strange
I’m locked in tight, I’m out of range
I used to care,
but things have changed
This place ain’t doing me any good
I’m in the wrong town,
I should be in Hollywood
Just for a second there
I thought I saw something move
Gonna take dancing lessons
do the jitterbug rag
Ain’t no shortcuts,
gonna dress in drag
Only a fool in here would think
he’s got anything to prove
Lotta water under the bridge,
lotta other stuff too
Don’t get up gentlemen,
I’m only passing through
People are crazy
and times are strange
I’m locked in tight, I’m out of range
I used to care,
but things have changed
I’ve been walking forty miles
of bad road
If the bible is right,
the world will explode
I’ve been trying to get as far away
from myself as I can
Some things are too hot to touch
The human mind
can only stand so much
You can’t win with a losing hand
Feel like falling in love
with the first woman I meet
Putting her in a wheel barrow
and wheeling her down the street
People are crazy
and times are strange
I’m locked in tight, I’m out of range
I used to care,
but things have changed
I hurt easy, I just don’t show it
You can hurt someone
and not even know it
The next sixty seconds
could be like an eternity
Gonna get lowdown, gonna fly high
All the truth in the world
adds up to one big lie
I’m love with a woman
who don’t even appeal to me
Mr. Jinx and Miss Lucy,
they jumped in the lake
I’m not that eager to make a mistake
People are crazy
and times are strange
I’m locked in tight, I’m out of range
I used to care,
but things have changed”
~ Bob Dylan
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when the wolves break down the door
toss them the hairy baby and run
escape and never look back
painted and powdered
ready for sodomy
————–when the wolves break down the door
wear something that boldly reveals your bubble butt
no matter how far down you go—never swallow
men come and men go without a second thought
some use the family bible for a pillow
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‘The Potato Eaters’
by Vincent van Gogh
is a particular peculiar
favourite of mine
The pathetic sublime
Vincent’s artistic insight
fearlessly exploring
a fugly horror comedy
The Average Family
Common man’s
lowly fallen state
Ugly-beauty
Brutal reality
For some it inspires
only revulsion, spite,
and hate
Grace is an attitude
Without mercy
we would all be
covered in grime
Love covers the crime
of a grasping multitude
As I eat potatoes all the time
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half of the library employees
are not humanoid
curious about blonds
all that artificial hair
with a good source of light
one can see the plugs
the smell of store bought pee
with a blast of vinegar flavor
how many prostitutes in the library ?
(just think—canaries in the kitten cage)
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The coal miners
of Placebo suburbia
they really don’t care
One book
is as good as any other
Mining magnates
and self published pimps
paying their taxes
in the Canary Islands
Street librarians
and green aliens
gutter crawling
the Bermuda Triangle
with Leonardo Dicaprio
in Morocco
Lost dogs
and homeless kittens
Everyone looking
for the perfect angle
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my friends blame their parents
life boiled down to be an experiment
Daddy treating the girls like prize cattle
Boy Scouts and church folk trying to molest
the craziness of the Beatles taking over control
the Stones with a zipper on their suggestive cover
America wanted to reach in there and squeeze Mick’s dong
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it only takes one witch to completely occupy Placebo Town
she was a good witch, a bad witch, and a gossip junkie
Yoko claims to be a witch
but she is just a weakling
signed her husbands name
when Satan came to town
two choices:
(+) toss the child
(+) toss the old man
she got extra years to play “Queen Witch”
standing up there in fame with her toad skin son
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In Placebo Town
where there’s a new pill
to settle your twitch,
and where acting silly
can make you rich,
it’s alway the season
of the witch.
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witchcraft
the little vanities and conceits
teeth from beasts and monsters
nostalgia painted on the lips of women
how many times has brutality taken its kiss ?
witchcraft dimly lit
total darkness for the birth
the layers of Mary out of sight
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The Man-Machine
The Woman-Pagan
As Florian Schneider
takes to the Autobahn
beyond the Kraftwerk
the music lives on
The sex magic
of Wendy the Witch
caused poor Casper
the overly friendly ghost
to come running
with an ectoplasmic spasm
A pyrotechnic explosion
quickly ensuing
The crafty warlock
haunting a broken down
stairway to heaven
quietly watching
A black magic woman
and her coven
have now stolen
the electronic sound
of a cyber generation
and taken it
for a pagan blessing
to the Head Druid
of Placebo Town
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A dark
basement car park
in Placebo Town
is where the Egg Man
was gunned down
All the King’s men
couldn’t put the Fab Four
back together again
As the last four hits
of the Magical Walrus
were all bullets
Did he shiver inside?
Did he swallow his pain?
Was it just a crazy homicide?
What did Yoko have to gain?
That statue of Shiva
hidden in her closet
or secret agents
of the surveillance state
… who was to blame?
Who made the world cry?
I really want to know
I’m just a curious guy
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just borrowed time
first you are taught your ABCs
then the Cosmic Clock pushed in your face
you try to swallow and digest as much as you can
oh Brother, don’t look away as hours and minutes fade away
here today and gone tomorrow completely naked and ungodly afraid
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Beyond the static
there’s a crack
in the mainframe
of Placebo Town
A spiralling vortex
of personal space
where the A – Z
of divine ecstasy
can surreptitiously
take place
No nuclear clock
shoved in the face
The Spirit of Truth
a vaccine of eternity
with all shame erased
is not swallowed
but in solemn intimacy
graciously embraced
In the general vicinity
of my comment section
I express only a testimony
Not shared in haste
But when he, the Spirit of truth,
comes, he will guide you into all
the truth. He will not speak on his
own; he will speak only what he
hears, and he will tell you what is
yet to come.
~ John, the Disciple
However, as it is written:
“What no eye has seen,
what no ear has heard,
and what no human mind
has conceived” …
the things God has prepared
for those who love him,
these are the things God has
revealed to us by his Spirit.
The Spirit searches all things,
even the deep things of God.
~ Paul, the Apostle
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pasta bound and gagged with legal cheese
no longer the slim noodle in sexy heels
a true vulnerability to boiling water
nasty males licking their lips
abandon all hope of rescue
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A quick squid
named Calamari
with a wholemeal soul
and an enticing entrée
All olive oil on the boil
Tentacle rings for sale
Gluten and guilt free
of any carbonara karma
A rich thick jus
poured liberally
upon the primal parmigiana
A classic recipe
Yet never enough
for the greedy hungry
of an alien cuisine
Since the Kitchen of Eden
was forced to close down
there’s been a drive-through
serving fast food
in the heart of Placebo Town
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a drive-through for those above ground
readers with mushroom-shaped heads
symbols of sexuality on the shoulders
phallic wing-dings daily
—————–a primary genital
from the kitchen of Eden
(Eve had a private playground with a slick slide)
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that Eden kitchen has stopped serving “guilty conscience”
the Elders preach that death is the only exit
think about our brother who died
in a most painful way
*******************
theatrical realism with the kind of suffocation
that poets find difficult to describe
the enemy within
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it is said that those poor souls who labored in the Eden kitchen
enjoyed their complicated and often awkward employment
just part of the Great Lie
slave paraphernalia
above as below
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In the kitchen
of Hotel Babylon
the indentured servants
are all cursing their fates
as they scrape the plates
with no realization
that their ticket to freedom
has been purchased
and stamped
A sweet chariot waiting
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young people ignorant of romance
affection carries the smart cut of a whip
one just lubes up and makes mathematical
any sensations of pleasure, a paroxysm of despair
the violent passions securely linked to fiendish sources
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every day messages arrive from fallen friends
that they have “waited too long”
prior to puberty every child
says, “this time will be different”
every day messages arrive from fallen friends
they’ve added another row of Robert Frost
at the local library
each volume
a barrier
not meant to be crossed
the coming of fall and winter
nature and its stages of cruelty
I try to alert the library authorities
that the future is escalating into the past
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Eurotrash
crash survivors
those lost love children
of Jean Paul Gautier
and Jimi Hendrix
all making a big noise
on the catwalks
of Milan and Paris
with their red carpet
arm candy borrowed from
the Placebo Town library
and other assorted
house trained pets
But my speech to text app
is unable to translate
as it keeps turning off
“Where shall the Word be found,
Where will the Word resound?
Not here,
There is not enough silence.”
~ T. S. Eliot
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telescoping males
at the bus station men’s room
loneliness misplaced free of charge
vulnerable human driftwood all about
shades of pinks and browns
Laguna Beach flavors
foreskin cheese
salty toe
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I need a shot of love.
Don’t need a shot of heroine
to kill my disease
Don’t need a shot of turpentine,
only bring me to my knees
Don’t need a shot codeine
to help me to repent
Don’t need a shot of whiskey,
help me be president.
I need a shot of love
Doctor can you hear me?
I need some Medicaid
I seen the kingdoms of the world
and it’s making me feel afraid
What I got ain’t painful,
it’s just bound to kill me dead
Like the men that followed Jesus
when they put a price upon his head.
I need a shot of love
I don’t need no alibi
when I’m spending time with you
I’ve heard all them rumors
you have heard them too
Don’t show me no picture show
or give me no book to read
It don’t satisfy the hurt inside
nor the habit that it needs
I need a shot of love
Why would I want to
take your life?
You’ve only murdered my father,
raped his wife
Tattooed my babies
with a poison pen
Mocked my God,
humiliated my friends
I need a shot of love
Don’t want to be with
nobody tonight
Veronica is not here,
Mavis just ain’t right
There’s a man who hates me
and he’s swift, smooth, and near
Am I supposed to set back
and wait until he’s here?
I need a shot of love
.
What makes the wind
want to blow tonight?
Don’t even feel like
crossing the street
and my car ain’t acting right
Called home, everybody
seemed to have moved away
My conscience is beginning
to bother me today.
I need a shot of love.
If you’re a doctor,
I need a shot of love.
~ Bob Dylan,
on a really bad day 😎
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no mater how much is written about Love
there is always concealment
a degree of intelligent evasion
a passionate denial
———————-well, Honey
———————-when the horns blow
Love will be issued a fearless frontal assault
readers purchase tickets to observe
actors dish up emotional expressions
fake anger and fake love in an empty soul
Karma busy robbing the Jesus-paid-in-full
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With eyes wide shut
it never pays
to reveal too much
as the heart hardens
and lies get spoken
Hiding behind a disguise
of dark sunglasses
and a mask of teflon
a soul already
bruised and broken
“Love is patient,
love is kind.
It does not envy,
it does not boast,
it is not proud.
It does not dishonor others,
it is not self-seeking,
it is not easily angered,
it keeps no record of wrongs.
Love does not delight in evil
but rejoices with the truth.
It always protects,
always trusts,
always hopes,
always perseveres.
Love never fails.”
~ Paul, the Apostle
“I’m getting weary looking
in my baby’s eyes
When she’s near me
she’s so hard to recognize.
I finally realize
there’s no room for regret,
True love, true love, true love
tends to forget.”
~ Bob Dylan
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sex behind the curtain
what to exclude
what to include
ungodly complicated
that vise-like grip of ecstasy
the banquet table set up underwater
desperate to dine but finding it impossible
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When it comes to doing harm,
deep down, there’s an alarm.
To avoid any guilt ridden wrath,
at the Placebo Town Institute
of Etiquette & Precoital Charm,
they are taught
to turn the alarm off.
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many a time I have emptied a bucket of tears
at the Shrine of the Precoital Charm
a hotbed of swollen leaking tissue
safe from a medical construction
a fancy term (love-ism)
ignorant to the harm of early trauma
America with its radical reformers
intensely hostile to intellectuals
sweet on soda and Robert Frost
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voluntary or involuntary dupe
that’s the question for the gents
sleeping outside in the thick night
at the Shrine of the Precoital Charm
some talk and some grunt like beasts
love is in and of itself a painful index
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a backroom
at the Shrine of the Precoital Charm
offers lobotomizing services
anything unsanctioned can be altered
arrangements of words and images
can easily change a frown into a smile
(question not the cost of unchecked appetites)
the poet sacrifices daily
living and dying
regardless
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“Give me back my broken night
My mirrored room, my secret life
It’s lonely here,
There’s no one left to torture
Give me absolute control
Over every living soul
And lie beside me, baby
That’s an order
Give me crack and anal sex
Take the only tree that’s left
And stuff it up the hole
In your culture
Give me back the Berlin wall
Give me Stalin and St. Paul
I’ve seen the future, brother
It is murder
Things are going to slide,
slide in all directions
Won’t be nothing
Nothing you can measure anymore
The blizzard,
the blizzard of the world
Has crossed the threshold
And it has overturned
The order of the soul
When they said repent, repent,
I wonder what they meant? ”
~ Leonard Cohen
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It’s coming from the sorrow
in the street
The holy places
where the races meet
From the homicidal bitchin’
That goes down in every kitchen
To determine who will serve
and who will eat
From the wells of disappointment
Where the women kneel to pray
For the grace of God in the desert here
And the desert far away:
Democracy is coming to the USA
Sail on, sail on
O mighty Ship of State
To the Shores of Need
Past the Reefs of Greed
Through the Squalls of Hate
Sail on, sail on, sail on, sail on
It’s coming to America first
The cradle of the best and of the worst
It’s here they got the range
And the machinery for change
And it’s here they got the spiritual thirst
It’s here the family’s broken
And it’s here the lonely say
That the heart has got to open
In a fundamental way
Democracy is coming to the USA
~ Leonard Cohen
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================================I saw Little Richard in the lobotomy line
==============================at the Shrine of the Precoital Charm
=======================famous for masturbating 15 times a day
===================Little Richard has decided to give it a rest
remove those memories==============================================
as if the handshakes=================================================
never happened====================================================
===============================trying to shield himself from a lifetime
of capital letters and exclamation marks (motions kept at arm’s length)
—————–
—————–
the headstone
claims fame for sounds made
but what about the daily struggle
with loneliness
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Tutti Frutti Au Rutti
All Fruits Are Broken
(The mum’s and dad
back in the 50’s had
no idea what the heck
Little Richard was singing)
All Fruits Are Broken
eventually … so baby,
Daisy, let me be the first
to burst your cherry?
A-bop-bop-a-loom-op
a-lop-pop-boom 💥
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it was later on in your life that they discovered new planets
and it was even later when they discovered new numbers
life took a great leap forward never to look back
famous Satan quote, “the majority of angels are manual laborers”
eternal labor with no breaks, no need to snooze or defecate
it would be pointless to question timeless vitality
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periods of sobriety
a principal character hides behind a mask
extraordinarily prolonged silence on the stage
huge color photographs of Elton John’s buttocks
audience members argue over words spoken, unspoken
———————————————Placebo Town
———————————————Placebo Town
no twin beds at the Honeymoon Hotel
romance is fluid, each beholder different
the Poet unapproachable to strangers
the Poet increasingly suspicious
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“Art is made to disturb,
science reassures”
“There is only one valuable thing in art:
the thing you cannot explain”
“Reality only reveals itself when it
is illuminated by a ray of poetry.”
“Truth exists; only lies are invented.”
~Georges Braque
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limited detail
in Placebo Town
high school graduates
are employed at erasing history
mental excursions grow exhausted over time
as cattle vanish, the Burger Joints have to relocate
signs on the big highway, “NO MEAT—MOVE ON”
on television, loops of meat packing factories
hundreds of virus stricken workers
oozing snot and slobber
over torn hunks of flesh
conveyer belt driven
Karma has no mercy
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History is written
by the insanely obsessed
And printed upon
that cum stain
on Monica Lewinsky’s dress
The Rosetta Stone
of existential theology
Newton’s third law of motion …
“What goes up, must come down.”
That infamous gown
of Little Miss Demeanour
who learnt the hard way
not to linger
on the outskirts
of Placebo Town
with the Head Dry Cleaner
when his pinstriped pants
are hitting the ground
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almost Christmas
a man on each side
ambulance sounds
in their underpants
party time narrative
modern readers
curious about the struggle
faith in the truck stop romance
no matter what
not a single recoil
cadavers deep in slumber
praying for a good soaking
cadavers deep in slumber
excited by a strong breeze
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the poet was happy to tease
but “put out” no way
dating boys
with a fancy welcoming
magic-carpet speech
offering a carnival ride
octopus hands
questioning
where everything would go
faster and faster
promising
sparks
and
explosion
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Nobody feels any pain
Tonight as I stand inside the rain
Ev’rybody knows
That Baby’s got new clothes
But lately I see her ribbons
and her bows
Hair fallen from her curls
She takes just like a woman,
yes, she does
She makes love just like a woman,
yes, she does
And she aches just like a woman
But she breaks just like a little girl
Queen Mary
She’s my friend
Yes, I believe I’ll go see her again
Nobody has to guess
That Baby can’t be blessed
Till she sees finally
that she’s like all the rest
With her fog, her amphetamine
and her pearls
She takes just like a woman, yes
She makes love just like a woman,
yes, she does
And she aches just like a woman
But she breaks just like a little girl
It was raining from the first
And I was dying there of thirst
So I came in here
And your long-time curse hurts
But what’s worse
Is this pain in here
I can’t stay in here
Ain’t it clear that
I just can’t fit
Yes, I believe it’s time for us to quit
But when we meet again
Introduced as friends
Please don’t let on
that you knew me
when I was hungry
and it was your world
Ah, you fake just like a woman,
yes, you do
You make love just like a woman,
yes, you do
Then you ache just like a woman
But you break just like a little girl
~ Bob Dylan
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high school poet
with bedroom walls covered
with huge color photographs
of Elton John’s British buttocks
many classmates would ask
“how do you do it ?”
not knowing they
were self posed
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“The secret of it all is to write in
the gush, the throb, the flood of the
moment.To put things down without
deliberation, without worrying about
their style, without waiting for a fit
time or place. I always worked that
way. I took the first scrap of paper,
the first doorstep, the first desk, and
wrote, wrote, wrote … By writing at
the instant, the very heartbeat of life
is caught.” ~ Walt Whitman
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Walt Whitman was good for a hand-job
hips or lips never on the menu
he was no Abe Lincoln
Walt hid from Jesus
he was taught the Adam and Eve
the need for another child
when it came time to plant the seeds:
no shilly-shallying
no mucking about
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Walt Whitman
along with Ezra Pound
and Ernest Hemingway
all fought alongside us
when finally
we took Manhattan
That brutal battle
was a most bloody affray
But Walt keep us going
with his cries
of “O Captain! My Captain!”
As we all knelt to pray
Soon the enemy
they fell like leaves of grass
And those Whitman’s chocolates
so delicious
kept us all sweet and strong
The celebrations afterwards
were delirious and long
Jesús Rodríguez
and the Sugar Man
brought enough Jamaican rum
for everyone
A throng of Alien Nation patriots
on a trip to Woodstock Farm
with Carlos Santana and Janis Joplin
All crazed and waltzing with Walt
playing his violin
and singing ‘Hey Jude’
as the sun went down
The Tambourine Man
with a stone tablet in each hand
then took to the stage declaring
“Next Stop … Placebo Town!”
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she told me in private
that her cake
had suffered the elements
she was six shots past done
we went to the motel
AND
upon inspection
I slept in the car
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“Better to sleep in the car
than in a sleazy motel room
with little Miss Over Easy.”
~ Ancient Sumerian Proverb
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Momma told me not to shack up with a woman
who got horizontal with every man she met
my teacher told me, “love is like a circus
that leaves town without notice”
abandoned without pockets
a lazy hand, half a brain
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memorabilia brought up from the basement
sexual athletics and cruel rug-burn
I told myself that she was only
having a temporary thaw
her new husband
with his nightly jabbing
had increased the folds
something that size
required a complex
physical dialogue
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“Gravitation is not responsible
for falling in love.” ~ Albert Einstein
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in my small community
they scraped the knees of every child
on the stone tablets brought down the mountain
no one could say that they were ignorant of Mister Moses
I knew I was the New Covenant Moses and I wasn’t living right
it was impossible for me to stay quiet, I confessed my identity
at best the most holy Elders blew snot and threw punches
I was wrong-headed and taken to the bus station to leave
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living the kind of life
I’ve seen in a zombie movie
a dozen zombie movies
what the hell ?
————they took away my Robert Frost
praying to God
that the crowd outside can’t get in
rolling my cigarettes
like a factory machine
talking to myself
“going to get a little high, nothing serious”
————can’t find my personal lubricant
now when I beat the meat
the edges turn red and hurt
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I smile when I’m angry
I cheat and I lie
I do what I have to do
To get by
But I know what is wrong
And I know what is right
And I’d die for the truth
In my secret life
In my secret life
Hold on, hold on, my brother
My sister, hold on tight
I finally got my orders
I’ll be marching
Through the morning
Marching through the night
Moving cross the borders
Of my secret life
Looked through the paper
Makes you want to cry
Nobody cares if the people
Live or die
And the dealer wants you thinking
That it’s either black or white
Thank God it’s not that simple
In My Secret Life
I bite my lip
I buy what I’m told
From the latest hit
To the wisdom of old
But I’m always alone
And my heart is like ice
And it’s crowded and cold
In My Secret Life
~ Leonard Cohen
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the children were surprised to discover that everyone dead was on fire
the flames were coated with seasick colors and the smell, Oh Lord
priests were floating in boiling mud, their lungs like lifejackets
I tried to feel sorry for them but sympathy wasn’t possible
Satan said, “take a long look around and pick a spot”
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Satan
may prowl around
roaring like a hungry lion
but much like
a house broken pussy
he needs permission
to devour anyone
and to do any smiting
He once surfaced
just behind
where I was sitting
as from a fiery furnace
far underground
somewhere south
of Placebo Town
He was looking
for the naive initiate
who’d just popped
a Luciferian sacrament
scored in Hell’s Kitchen
I could sense that
this most nefarious
sly crazy cat
oozing malignant puss
wasn’t where it’s at
He told me to scat
as he was on the hunt
for someone else to attack
On a wing
and a mother’s prayer
I got out of there
and never looked back
Just to think
this repulsive apparition
was once an angel of light
and by all accounts
heavenly handsome
Now so diabolically fugly!
What the hell happened?
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(what the hell happened ?)
contagion
outdoor contagion came indoors
Momma and Poppa found themselves facing
wilfully arbitrary thoughts about killing the children
selling the farm and moving near the Washington coast
rent a mobile home in Forks and make friends with meth
just trying to be free of metaphorical activity
figurative language overly maddening
journey out to Washington state
tell poets and crying babies
“shut the hell up”
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Civilisation coming
To a crashing halt
The waters rising
Days as dark as night
People disappearing
Or simply dying of fright
As time itself begins to melt
The leaders have no answers
Neither left nor the right
The dead are asking questions
The storm that rages
Or the Rock of Ages?
Whilst the living pray for light
Poet priests are in hiding
Or else taken to flight
History unwinding
Reality unravelling
All creation dissolving
Get set … and hold on tight
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get set…hold on tight
Robert Frost
walking among the trees
treasuring their blossoms
his mouth watering
for future fruit
over generosity
from up above
free from the nettles
and brambles
free from the flotsam
that haunts nightly rest
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The birds they sang
At the break of day
Start again
I heard them say
Don’t dwell on what
Has passed away
Or what is yet to be
Yeah the wars
They will be fought again
The holy dove
She will be caught again
Bought and sold
And bought again
The dove is never free
Ring the bells
that still can ring
Forget your perfect offering
There is a crack in everything
That’s how the light gets in
~ Leonard Cohen
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THE TEASE OF THE DISEASE
Edgar Allan Poe refusing to wear a mask
grooving on the coughs and banalities
funeral homes making a killing
Bob Dylan with a new release
singing kind of slow
dreadful like
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CORONA MOST FOUL
Mr. Big
the Head Pig
is trying to sell me
a little white pill
I think perhaps
he’s flipped his wig?
The Post Office lady
wouldn’t hand over my parcel
till the Union
gets her danger money
I told her …
“Baby, you can’t buy safety!
Best go work in a library.”
She just gave me
the longest stare
Then took off
her face mask
and untied her Volvo hair
saying … “Hey,
let’s go all red Ferrari
and isolate together?!
May as well unlock
my private postbox
before that Chinese virus
eventually gets me.”
I finally got my package
all ravaged and savaged
after a turbulent delivery
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the librarian was proud
of her horsehair sweater
what manner of beast
would relish her conquest ?
she had plenty of friends
characters on soaps
and a guy
from the spin-the-wheel
nightly game show
she sent him a get well card
when he succumbed to
intestinal tuberculosis (?)
industrial pork worms (?)
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In Placebo Town
They live face down
Keeping a closed eye
To the ground
Where the pigs
with their snouts
In the trough
Are fat and corrupt
And where
The pork worms
All thrive
Then they’re buried
Standing up
Dead or alive
No rest in peace
To be found
In Placebo Town
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