With more skat
than a stray cat
can poke his eyeballs at
the punk
in the Midnight Choir
starts to twist and shout
Yet …
the All in All
all too beautiful
for even a bird on a wire
to sing about
Like that
concert hall in Vienna
where your lips
were so warm and wet
Getting a feel
of the real deal
… that love thing
Upon a mission
a royal commission
seeking foremost
the rock solid Kingdom
It all starts from within
Seizing the living moment
Best be in it
to win
And Leonard Cohen
he’s moved on
to the Tower of Song
To find truth
without love
or at least a trace
of faith and hope
like trying to climb
the highest peak
of Mount Everest
naked
without oxygen
or even a rope
Not saying it can’t be done
but man …
sounding much like
a clanging gong
in the Temple
of a world gone wrong
Or have I found
that love thing?
From the mire
of the dire basement
that we’re standing in
try as you might
to sight the heavens
across the endless skies
Far better
in the light
seeing the world
through heaven’s eyes
Heart and Soulful
Holy Mindfulness
is the rightful place
where we all belong
And Leonard Cohen
he’s moved on
to the Tower of Song
I too
have tried
in my way
to be free
If it be your will
then let it be
Yet
here on earth
they sentenced me
to forty years of mayhem
for spying
the celebrants
of sin
Tell me
where does
this world end
and the next begin?
Because
I don’t like your
toxic culture mister
And I don’t like
the choir
you’re singing in
I don’t like Big Brother’s
twisted little sister
The King
of everything
He’s coming back
He’s coming to reward them
The King of hearts
and minds
the Prince of Peace
returning
But first
we seek the Kingdom
Then let freedom ring
And Leonard Cohen
he’s moved on
to the Tower of Song
I’ve been buried
and I’ve been dug up
I call it grace amazing
You called it dumb luck
And thank you
for those items
that you sent me
The stone monkey
and the ink
under my skin
I’ve tunnelled
towards the light
and now I’m ready
First
we occupy the Kingdom
then
let the revolution begin
Yes … Jesus was a sailor
when he walked upon the water
Seeking the lost at sea
and the drowning
The stranger
the gambler
and me
And Leonard Cohen
he’s sailing on
to the Tower of Song
Through all
the rise and fall
the pulp fiction
from hell’s kitchen
I really like
to walk
that tightrope, baby
I really like
to hear
those Sirens sing
But to see that nightmare
of deception
prowling through creation
Jesus told us
yes he told us
Kingdom starts with
Remember me?
I use to to live
without rhyme or reason
Remember me?
I plugged your Hi-Fi in
You loved me as a loser
You’d hate
to ever see me win
With Christ Jesus
my ship has finally
come in
No longer tied
to a kitchen chair
With a Glory
and a broken Hallelujah!
But first
we take the Kingdom
Losing it all to win
And Leonard Cohen
he’s moved on
to the Tower of Song
I’m counselled
by a whisper
from the heavens
Once I was blinded
by visions in a spin
Now it’s …
So long Chicken Maryland
That frozen turkey
who nearly did me in
For now I’m guided
by the beauty of creation
and a thirst
for the Kingdom
where I first heard
those angels sing
Jesus told us
yes he told us
Kingdom begins within
And Leonard Cohen
he’s singing along
from the Tower of Song
~ by David B. Redpath © 2017-20
Artwork;
‘La Musica Sacra’
~ by Luigi Mussini
Photography:
David B. Redpath © 2017-20
David Redpath 
Pink Floyd says that it all makes sense
when expressed in dollars and cents
the Rabbi says the same thing
with the serpent gifting Eve
with a clitoris in Eden
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“My clitoris, the All Seeing Eye
of Horis, as my eunuchs call it,
is the gift that keeps on giving …
with a booty like jelly on springs.
A celestial thing, especially
when it gets together with it’s
Adamic twin for a beastial spin.
Move over Casanova, and let the
Carnivàle de Carnal takeover.
The poetic hangs suspended as
my kaleidoscopic pleasure begins.”
~ Placebia Majora
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a clitoris the size of a school bus
everyone wanted a peek
“look but don’t touch”
disciplinarian advice
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Placebo Town is unruly and dreadful
bootleg Dylan and watered down booze
old-fashioned freefalls among the absurd
ain’t what they used to be or ever will be
cannibalistic clouds shade hunger
drums announce the fear
of being eaten
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Blueberry Hill
is where the hunger meets
the thrill of the chase
There the fine young cannibals
keep what they kill
in a carnivorous game
for primal predators
Without a loving shot
of supernatural grace
no matter how wild or tame
no matter how cool or hot
Placebo Town will always
follow you around
from place to place
Fats Domino
forever at the piano
singing ‘Ain’t It A Shame’
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where Placebo Town stands
Iesous walked around free
888 his jolly equivalent
the drums did pound
come eat, come eat
feed on Leviathan
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one is told that new music will arrive
as a thief in the night
the PseudoBeatles
shake, rattle, roll
sinfulness by choice
the breath of sounds
rebellion, blasphemy
deception at its very best
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Rebellious
Rebellious
Rebellious
Rage is at the heart
of Rock ‘n’ Roll
Raging teenage hormones
The next new wave
Zombies On Steroids
sounding much like the Ramones
to be stocked on the shelf
just in time for Christmas
available as a subdermal implant
A fully loaded retro placebo
complete with
a chemo-genital stimulant
Rebel, rebel, you’ve torn your dress
“You’ll be dancing in the street
with David Bowie and Mick Jagger!”
German Acid Rock
Cyberpunk
Nothing new under
a Thirsty Moon
His flute blowing hard
Jethro Tull in tune
with Serotonin
in the horn section
You say you want a revolution
Then Joe Biden isn’t your man
Today’s crop of swamp slop
just don’t have that angry feeling
That goes double for Ed Sheeran
The Beatles came and went
all too soon
leaving Pink Floyd
to ride that gravy train
Now the Machine itself
has cut out the middle man
and composes the music
for a tasteless generation
Leaving us
Helpless
Helpless
Helpless
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leaping from the top of a ladder
as high as a skyscraper
brother-sister
psychological
stains
Lovecraft narrative
an area to color with wax crayons
the eyes shut out the nameless-shapeless
shut out the charred skeleton on the 2020 Christmas card
chewing gum wrapper gifts, mother shocking from behind
virgin popsicle sticks and slick undulating underparts
was she just breathing hard or was it nasty moaning
a dog hole of a pagan birth, mutilation galore
driving it home, the Eden-like entrance
(@) death-progenitors (lovers)
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it is not unusual to find oneself
in the company of flesh chewers
———–crying alone outdoors
collecting wind blown Armenian prayers
words of protection free of the stench
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it was the kind of party
where the host digs up a fresh burial
and the partygoers mutilate the body
in the background poets read material
about murders, suicides, anything gruesome
the suddenness of death is of extreme interest
Picasso was there painting with reliquified fluids
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I have seen the stains
of reliquified fluids
at the Placebo Picasso Museum
like the rings of Saturn
caught in the cosmic maelstrom
of a Pablo hallucination
An African vivisection
of the unmasked woman
He was lost for a time
searching every fibre
of a mystical canvas
‘Las Meninas’
manifesting madness
thinking he’s the reincarnation
of Diego Velázquez
But he couldn’t quite capture
the Ladies-in-Waiting
whilst his pants were still on
Fats Domino forever at the piano
singing ‘Ain’t That A Shame’
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work done daily
among the wicked
bad people talking
about reverse rape
the seed and the sapling
doing what is best
and for the correct reasons
even when this is not the case
(@) thinking-out-loud
the librarian offers to rip a strip
only bankrupt single men agree
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Placebo Town in its multiplicity
so nice to be one among many
I put on the “Morrison Hotel” album
the night-porter has arrived
happy day in a small baggie
I always purchase extra
a fat tablespoon in the morning coffee
angels overhead like jet planes
Jim has grown old
his voice is self-swallowing
dandelion Jim about ready to blow
he stands on the other side
no longer particular
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sex as a sport
elements of sex
loaded in a weapon
the expression ready to blow
Jim, a spy in the House of Love
made love to every creature in Placebo Town
he knows your deepest darkest secret
your deepest darkest fear
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Marble statues of Aphrodite, Athena,
Minerva, and Venus …
Holes would appear and disappear
Orifices leaving mere mortals
in a mindless trance
Only the chosen few
could witness such a view
without being driven to madness
These portals to other dimensions
they even sent Salvador Dali
temporarily delirious
till he found the irrefutable evidence
at the entrance to hyper relativity
Albert Einstein reluctantly concurred
and called it Quantum Mechanics
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thoughts of death worn like clothing
each day the big question
what people will say
night comes but not the darkness
two lights in every room, a backup in case
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the fear of sleep
a vacation from the self
sitting up, refusing to recline
thousands of relatives with open arms
death, the grasp from the collective past
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nervous
about mastering insomnia
the final apparatus, the death box
barked on the street as a resting place
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“Do not be anxious about anything,
but in every situation, by prayer and
petition, with thanksgiving, present
your requests to God. And the peace
of God, which transcends all
understanding, will guard your hearts
and your minds in Christ Jesus.
Finally, brothers and sisters, whatever
is true, whatever is noble, whatever is
right, whatever is pure, whatever is
lovely, whatever is admirable — if
anything is excellent or praiseworthy
— think about such things.”
~ Paul the Apostle
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the killer showed up at the door
asked me for my sharpest knife
was he going to dig it into my flesh ?
was I to grind to a halt ?
the night porter was just hours away
my daily buzz, my unending avalanche
I invited the killer inside to warm up
he was such a great distance from the Lord
death or no death, I could be loving and kind
I asked if he had seen the new baby Yoda episode
(@) after the act had been consummated
crazy-ass murder or sex or both
the smell of fresh blood
heavy silence replaced
the death-rattle
he wasn’t much
all opened up
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Caught
between
a big death
and a hard place
the stimulus
was deafening
The poetic consumption
a biological orchestration
After shocks rocking
the compass pointing north
from mouth to south resuscitation
There’s a killer in her pants
with delusions of romance
A portal begging to be used
Open doors all dreaming
a Jim Morrison resurrection
Nothing seduces the abused
like the promise
of some hot spanking violence
Whatever gets the juices
of a psycho killer flowing
There’s a maniac on the loose
Punishment is the aphrodisiac
of a lustful guilty conscience
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——NOT THE EXCEPTION BUT THE RULE——
two blocks from the Honeymoon Hotel
the Harlot House was in full swing
paper money and coins
a constant turnover
occupational
diseases
galore
STDs
lung snot
tuberculosis
asphyxiation
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PUNISHMENT IS THE APHRODISIAC
FOR A LUST FILLED GUILTY CONSCIENCE
—David Redpath
armies of angels marching in heaven
crowds of busy feet waiting for the ferry
the river currents wild with the dark storms
no accident I say, those who waded ashore
self-perfecting parents rich in soul
gypsies of the highest order
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the superstructures we call home
the flowers never close shop
eclectic humor as therapy
honest organic morality
pure grade night porter
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Justice wears a blindfold
The Jester wears a mask
Tonto now owns a casino
The Lone Ranger
forever rides a horse
and goes wherever he wants
The Ghost Who Walks
is never seen in pants
for the Phantom . . .
he likes to wears tights
Batman wears whatever he can
The Boy Wonder still wears shorts
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The Boy Wonder
he routinely submits to men’s whims
wearing provocative clothing
willing to act boyish
for any opportunity
to make time
with Batman
(make sex)
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appearance-related problems
after poets and pocket-change junkies
watch well-hung men in porno films
perform circus acts
outside the Dr. Ruth circle
the proverbial birds and bees
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the craziest person in Placebo Town
constantly preaching to all
that without expression
one finds themselves
lacking substance
reality somehow melted down into personal expression
storytelling and dreams swirled into a self-portrait
females smoking cigarettes without filters
males yanking their penis for more size
booze in both hands
drugs out of sight
baby birds
desperate
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Placebo Town
one ponders if there are any real men
just a collection of chicks with dicks
chicks without dicks
years of education
they hand one
a gourmet cookbook
a big spoon and a bag of rocks
years of employment
the rescue fantasies never stop
years of religion
play down yourself
play up those who are holy
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trying to dodge bullets
his humor slightly amusing
in social situations, never at home
those who see him in a glowing light
they’ve never been stripped down and sodomized
love and romance —–whatever was on his agenda
anonymous names from prisons past, the treadmill of abuse
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my Christmas card was signed,
“anonymous lovers from prisons past”
having survived by deceiving myself
the letters spelling his name
on the tombstone
were much larger
than mine
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Judas Priest
was the Grinch
who stole Christmas
and nailed Easter to a cross
He served hard time
for his grievous crime
and now awaits his fate
in a wooden box
Close friends
and their attorneys
with a dose of fair weather
Stormy Daniels
and her lawyers
Donald
and his band
of gold diggers
Donors
and transmitters
all super spreaders
of the plastic pox
Sponsors
and facilitators
narcotics and alcoholics
Forever
there is the smaller lesser
and the bigger better
Growth is a choice
beyond a throw of the dice
Destiny is your chance
Love is heavenly
Righteousness is nice
Mindless zealots
greedy sinners
and scarlet harlots
riding hell for leather
in the shadow of death
upon the sands of strife
neck deep in defeat
Saints and soul survivors
in the hands of the Saviour
walking in the Spirit
upon the Rock of Triumph
having the time of their life
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boiled down,
DOING TO OTHERS WHAT WAS DONE TO HIM
buried in mud
having a fear of being washed away
endless dawdling
the sound of the river nearby
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she said that if deposits were to be made
the account was to be kept in good standing
what about the affection and the passionate kisses
she said that she could taste bankruptcy on my lips
the cleansing baptism of melting inside a hot woman
I gave her cash and gold coins and she shared her furnace
—————
—————
searching for absolution in hard drugs
absolution for past sins
absolution reduced
to exchanges
with the night porter
no going outside the house
shifting feuds stayed outside
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THE TROUBLE WITH FEMALE POETS
they build nests
sometimes milking
themselves in public places
either hiding the glandular orbs
or prancing around with them on display
a topless woman writes more convincingly
than any man, no matter the size of his stovepipe
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the night porter knocks on the door
“ease the rubbish in your mind”
private misspellings
alone
behind
a locked door
the final friend expires
rewriting history 90mph
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The night porter
at the Honeymoon Hotel
sells the used bedsheets
for a little drug money
to the Placebo Town
Genetics Laboratory
He is always discreet
but can you truly trust a junkie?
Mick Jagger and Jerry Hall
will one day be sorry
that they ever stayed
at the Honeymoon Hotel
The same goes double
for George Clooney
The creations that come out
of the genetics laboratory
are abominations
straight from hell
No scientist
could ever be prouder
The night porter
my main operator
at the Honeymoon Hotel
is one cold turkey
Yet . . .
I gave him a tip
as he began to sweat
and wished him well
My genetics workshop
needs all the bedsheets it can get
if Placebo Town is ever to have
a victorious mutant army
Artificial life
is too short for regret
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the grave knows our name
it knows
who we are from the beginning
the grave follows its own course
and yet
exists in cooperative relation
with the graves of others
Artificial Life in a red swimming suit
inside a machine runs constantly
outside, snarls and tangles
and fingernails
possibly
a slice of pie
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In order
to get his next fix
the night porter
has no regrets
He knows
that he owes
his very existence
to this illicit trade
in used bed sheets
Wrong or right?
Who’s to tell?
For long ago
his very own parents
who he’s never met
spent a torrid night
at the Placebo Town
Honeymoon Hotel
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back in the day when real men
would pleasure themselves with silk handkerchiefs
life was often a cramped space, too short and too tight
it was difficult to be free of the daily straitjacket
white people populated the market circus
finding pleasure in making money
totally sadistic in spending it
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late night bus driver told me to sit in the back
nobody wanted to see my landscape
perhaps there was a brown stain
the scent from raw scars
words with eroded edges
other vulgarizers sitting around
wishing poets with hillbilly beards
would trim their nose hair and expire
be stamped “DISCARD” by senior librarians
—————
—————
when we arrived at the Placebo Town station
I vaporized leaving those on the bus puzzled
perhaps I changed my gender and bench
possibly flushed myself down the john
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people stick their problems in my ears
their fears, the fears of strangers
all alone like Justin Bieber
Justin and his two legs
Justin
and his penis
Ishmael
he looks in a mirror
and everything has changed
all those years living in Moby Dick
just an idiot kid with money and fame
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“If you can fake a bit of sincerity
and pretend that you really care, if
you can stand your ground against
the rat race of Placebo Town … well,
my son, you’ll be halfway there.”
~ Hagar’s last words to Ishmael
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it just felt wrong to call him Abraham
I spoke of him as Mr. Lincoln
I told the guys
at the pool hall
that I had given Abe
a ride into town
a strange
silence
was I going to be rude
and comment on his gayness
OMG, I had heard of the Lincoln Log
had I been more brave I could have touched it
I gave Mr. Lincoln a ride into town
he was so gentle for his size
the printed word
was wrong
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helpless laughter
interior, exterior laughter
the parking lot of the nighttime pharmacy
angels with warm hands and hearts
the night porter knows their names
his smile answers the question
yes, he has what you want
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Vague Runt
the night porter’s
secret paramour
and bedraggled sister
of Vague Rant
the Placebo Town
street prophet
is sadly no more
She was impaled
on the fossilised jaw bone
of a dinosaur
after falling down a hole
Some say
she was waiting to score
Others say
she was on the run
from a man with a gun
Never get between
a pimp and his whore
A cautionary lesson for us all
Except for her other brother
the psychotic Vague Grunt
now knee deep in gore
after a successful vengeful hunt
His pièce de résistance
Yet the night porter
is beside himself with grief
He had a special place
in his genetically modified heart
for his pseudo ingénue
She will be sorely missed
especially for her vacantness
the ever vacuous
Vague Runt
Rest in peace
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outside the nighttime pharmacy
the silent often sing
outside the nighttime pharmacy
primordial vices
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the cult of Abraham Lincoln
where he swallows the sun
and it passes through him
to be swallowed again
tourists in hell share a single thought
they wish that they had given Abe a ride
said, “hop in Mr. Lincoln, we’re going to town”
————-
————-
excavations around Placebo Town
huge bones were showing up
giants and dinosaurs
brought to mind
but Abe said NO
just creation
playing
games
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the insignificance of youth
living in a cathedral
crucifixions
on a weekly basis
ordinary children blinded
daddy Pope with his headdress
cutting off hands, cutting off legs
I think about the number of babies
how long they cried inside the crocodile
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people ask me to not speak of my childhood
they suggest that I just take my drugs
blanket my lower self
and fade away
a thousand forms of cash
diamonds and gold
don’t mean a thing
my night porter
he knows
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I love the drugs that don’t have a name
chemicals of temptation and downfall
the sap squeezed from the Torah
serpent droppings from Eden
————
————
human traits of self-consciousness
Noah masturbating on the Ark
how long was the spiral
was God caught up
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Death on a bender
life spent on a shopping trip
through a drugstore blender
where the lights are blinding
dreaming I was someone else
somebody off the shelf
a voice through the loudspeaker
chanting, “Shop till you drop!”
in the Mall of the Self Serving
there motivation
is never in question
but deep down
in the car park of my heart
where it was quiet and dark
where Liberation
is ever the question
I knew I was free to be me
a fire can always start
from the smallest of sparks
the consummation
of endless possibility
where heaven is waiting
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the Mall of the Self Serving: second hand mutts
you wear
industrial earplugs
safe from the piercing shrieks
the gurgling death-rattles
what about that smell ?
ass chafe (dallied with)
lazy slapping fat
distractions
price tags reduced 95%
———–
———–
many a boy wanting to see a cooter
you shine a light down there
suddenly realizing
your bible was a soft sell
you go home out of sorts
who do you tell ?
the red blood
the black blood
the clots
the frantic effort
to stay clean
the curse with all of its intimacy
the librarian strong-arming the truth
men have no right to know
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In the name
of superstition
something unwholesome
crawled into the Vatican
Now it has a headdress
of it’s very own
as it drinks from the skull
of a choir boy
who was left all alone
at a nightclub
called The Danger Zone
Corona
Black Lives Matter
A world getting hotter
You ain’t seen nothing yet
Get ready for The Great Reset
You had better get in early
and place your order
for here come the new
and improved Earth Goddess
but you may call her Mother
along with all her Mini-Me-Too’s
to serve as devoted minions
Blessed be … something or other
‘Babylon Has Got It Goin’ On!’
will be the number song
sung as a global anthem
all uplifting and inspiring
But first . . .
there’s an apocalypse full
of fighting to be done
Power, money, and religion
… ruling together as one
But then . . .
nothing new under the Sun
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a sense of loneliness
in an area
where citizens
constantly test themselves
they form lines and wait
pilgrims on pause
some degree of trance
at some point
one can place an order
for photographs
of the actual event
THE TEST
first they ask
if you are contaminated
then they place something
too far up to be innocent
testing for Adam footing
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A positive result
celebrities confined
the rich quarantined
All reasons to celebrate
Like a probe up the proboscis
A virus that can mutate
faster than a geriatric
Presidential candidate
and like a plastic prosthesis
will outlast syphilis
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the drug people send me stuff to review
sometimes I flip my wig
HIGHEST compliment
“send more !!!”
outside the world is quiet
THANKSGIVING
the neighbors are roasting a goat
nearly naked around a pit, some beating drums
on second thought, perhaps the poor creature was not a goat
anyway, they are terrified of me, calling me a “White Devil”
they know that I can fly, having seen me in the tree tops
(@) White Devil looking for his missing parts
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The villagers
simple quiet folk
in their humble way
referred to me
as that sick boy
and a black sheep
gone astray
But one by one
I watched and waited
as they all succumbed
and were laid way down
in that pauper’s cemetery
called Placebo Town
Those villagers
never suspected a thing
The simple truth . . .
I always buried any proof
This sick boy is now
the only one left breathing
footloose and fancy free
When it comes
to sheep herding
the brutal truth
is I’d much rather be
the big bad wolf
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one fallen angel can recognize another
just turn on Hollywood
or listen to music
fellowship
of Hell
—————-no sanctity no sanity
the family photograph
Sin, Satan, Eve
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assembling documentary evidence
living outside the light of the city
voyeuristic curiosity
magnificent dope
self-definition
dead people floating about
emotional as well as intellectual
but He of considerable magnitude
says “No, No” to mothers
wanting to be fathers
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it took so long to construct me
I don’t want to be a highway
that goes nowhere
————————–where the highway ends and the man begins
working-class people have no need for literature—no sentimental crap
Thoreau erasing Shakespeare, toil-worn words for lazy students
bandages stop at the knee, pillaged memories of legs
the originals gone
(@) what could I say —a bird without wings, a runner without legs
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my perpetual hand
you are wearing my regalia
the curved organ, it is not mine
I am a museum 100% empty
you are wearing my regalia
your lessons are not mine
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Sin …
in the eye of the beholder
Satan …
just like Robert De Nero
only shorter
Eve …
she’s everywhere
shipwrecked sailors go
with a wink
a rose tattoo
and a shrug of her shoulder
To each their own
I don’t go pointing no bone
That way we may all get
that little bit older and wiser
I’m just now finding
through all the grating
and the grinding
my way back home
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The meek
inward looking
quietly seeking
The self satisfied
knowing nothing
The humble
to tradition clinging
(it’s a thing
that many seem
to like doing!?)
Hearts hard
Vandals pillaging
Museums empty
Minions plundering
Eden’s apple
slowly crumbling
with a big serve
of melting ice cream
Hearts softening
Pilgrim’s progress
A spiritual awakening
regardless
of any and all
physical predisposition
Hands giving
Hands taking
Tongues like fire
licking a bowl
of desolation
In the streets
reality is cracking
In the suburbs
houses of the absurd
built on the sands of time
are violently shaking
Ancient angry beasts
are quietly stirring
Nations are hungry
and viciously snarling
Time to unbind
the question forbidden
All creation awaiting
the rock solid Word
forever feeding
the very living
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translate the tongue
translate yourself
walk forward
find yourself
——————paraphrase the American president, “shit for brains”
the virus is shame
the cure is delay
they tie one down
and destroy the lungs
prisoners stack dead people
loved ones and relatives cry on television
average Americans seem concerned with eating food in public places
average Americans seem concerned with drinking booze in public places
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A true story
Twin boys born
a hundred years ago
back in 1920
From the Spanish flu
one dies as a baby
The surviving brother
lives on to 100
He died last week
of the Corona Virus
When pandemic truth
is stranger than fiction
what are the chances?
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he who absorbs the words
finds himself in motion
eyes blinking
for the minutes
arms flapping for the hours
multiple references to astronauts
three questions on the entrance exam
Mick Jagger’s sock size being the most difficult
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at the Honeymoon Hotel
sounds were no more evidence
of feeling than a clock’s chiming
obedience was the pay-out
saving money in a Mason jar
one day, enough for Jagger socks
singing songs and fathering children
yes, fathering children on the side
locked away from ordinary eyes
crucial signals leaking
from Mister Jagger
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To King Lizard swagger
like the Master Jism Blaster
We can all but stand back in awe
and gaze with bedazzled wonder
as young virgin pigeons flock
to those space cotton socks
not caring that some old man
a rock ‘n’ roll has-been
is wearing them 😎
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pretending to be
Jagger himself unraveling
miscellaneous smacking semen
perhaps his penis was Modern Adam
more emotional than intellectual
a creator with creative power
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A command module
Decommissioned
Ground Control
Beyond communication
The Commander and Chief
Totally oblivious
Without conscience or emotion
The spaceship Primal Penis
Proceeds at light speed
Upon it’s programmed mission
It feels the exhilaration
Of a successful lift off
Therefore it exists
A weaponized spearhead
Of the Supreme Algorithm
Never asking why
A sentient missile
Like an atomic clock
Counting down
With a dial sky high
Set to maximum
Preparing to jettison
It’s organic payload
Of genetic information
Swinging proud upon
A nuclear pendulum
With a final booster thrust
Of supercharged lust
Precision in motion
An emission of completion
The spent spacecraft
Must now return to base
To refuel and reload
Before it launches again
Into outer space
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many ask
why Jagger wasn’t softened into gentleness
by the influence of the space cotton socks
poor little Mick
chained to the beast, The Rolling Stones
a creature ignorant of moral relations
where sex turned into drugs
and everyone enjoyed
inflating poverty
POVERTY IS THE CRUEL LORD
children early on
suspect one another
of fraud and false dealings
Mick suffered from external motives
suffered even more from energies
beneath the surface of things
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