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 
conscious that there is no escape
stains on old valentines
torn edges associated
with the erosion
of romance
the living
camped
in loneliness
harsh emotional
sick-room slobbers
lovers and close friends
nervous efforts to act straight
LikeLiked by 1 person
Bent has been the status quo
since Adam and Eve
were ordered
to pack up
and go
It is
a
fact
that I
never get
satisfaction
outside the gates
of a straight Garden of Eden
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spy girl swinging like Tarzan
eyes peeling her apples
she was the real deal
the ease to the ache
LikeLiked by 1 person
school bound youth uneducated
the blend of the genders
physical landscapes
lonely helplessness
the back stairwell
cigarettes
and gin
LikeLiked by 1 person
In the library
the Christmas decorations
were silent
as the head librarian
explained to me
how every poet
is a sweet spirit
needing to be punished
… more or less
She was hungry for my poetry
Something new
and unpublished
The Christmas decorations
hanging from the ceiling
had all melted onto the floor
by the time we’d finished
Below a No Smoking sign
she handed me a lit cigarette
and whispered,
“You’re no Jack Kerouac.
That may be a good thing, as I’ll
let you off with just a spanking.
Less is more, so be careful
what you wish for.”
As I walked out the library door
into the streets of Placebo Town
I could hear the sound
of books weeping and screaming.
The head librarian
had fallen asleep
and had started to dream.
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Bent has never been more bent
Adam had God to toy with
Eve had Yoko to John
over time
satisfaction
doesn’t fit under
the Christmas tree
LikeLiked by 1 person
The gutters of Placebo Town
are crawling with Johns
The Christmas tree
in the town square glitters
with their frozen jism
as mermaids dive
stagnant ponds for coins
A drunken sailor
on the street corner sings
… “So this is Christmas
and who have you done?”
Death is being torn
from the placenta
of Placebo Town
as life struggles to be born
No satisfaction to be found
by the riders of the storm
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boy scouts collected the jism
for the town square glitter
only in a Robert Frost poem
do leaves collect in rain gutters
the gutters of Placebo Town
overflow with Johns
long-in-the-tooth mermaids
wade the make-a-wish fountains
at the Dollar Store Mall for coins
sailors drink and drink
pissing themselves in the streets
dirty birds dressed in white
sing a little ditty
“Christmas, Christmas, who have you done ?”
Death, the sexless child of Sin and Evil
no baby bottle or breast
Stairway to Heaven
stitched on its heart
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Doris Day lyrics
and orchestral hysterics
reverberating down below.
Placebo Town heretics
manoeuvring the cello
between Lady Liberty’s legs
as she makes her last stand
with nowhere else to go.
Under the table
the ghost of Clark Gable
is blowing candles in the wind.
Marilyn, ever handy,
gave old Clark a stroke.
But frankly,
I don’t give a damn.
All I know
is that Marilyn Monroe
was the ultimate
Placebo Town showgirl
with her mermaid assets
that could only have come
from the Imaginarium
of Doctor Parnasssus.
LikeLike
the doctors said that it was a protective shield of denial
Americans starving religion out of themselves
people across the way
with their ancestors
tied in the tops
of leafless
trees
they
understand
and display their understanding
that grief should be unearthed and visible
that children should poke it with sticks and laugh
perhaps scrawling with big crayons, sunken eyes, toothless grins
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Nations curled up in the fetal position
entangled in an umbilical cord of
trickle-down lies and
feudal economics
I hid myself amongst the Sisterhood
of the Cashless Happy Anarchist
as the Last Post sounded
for the millions lost in
a global pandemic
Blind reactions amongst the relics
of Placebo Town had come
at such a great cost
Freedom of choice
was now a thing
of the past
The Sisterhood finally decided that
it was time for some satisfaction
so I volunteered for the mission
as Sister Superior called out,
“Who’s next to be blessed?”
I survived the action
. . . but only just
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exterior visuals were of no interest
subjects were asked
to make adjustments
wash-down after wash-down
wrestling with the birth mud
man-man mud
father holding his son
a dress rehearsal for impersonality
reality ascending, reality descending
repetitive activities, words spoken
flying space craft, flying saucer craft
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“The noble-minded are calm
and steady. Little people are
forever fussing and fretting.”
~ Confucius
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Mrs. says
“all things
are required
reward is optional”
a good husband hammer
drives the nail straight and deep
super quiet
Caucasian sex
a regular rhythm
disappearing and reappearing
tighter and tighter the swallowing
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“Your reward
is in heaven 🙏
Meanwhile,
give me a smile
and keep on
hammering the hell
out of everything
down below ⬇️
The children
are always hungry
with no shoes
on their feet 👣
nothing to eat 🍔🍟
and nowhere to go.”
~ Her Indoors
LikeLike
the Rabbi says, “hobbies are replaced with employment up above”
X X X
perceptual dislocation
nudity promoted as a draw to the club
no matter how many layers are removed
depictions of true nudity come devilishly close
yes, depictions are often cardboard depictions
management is understandably reluctant
to acknowledge or offer refunds
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“All Care Given . . .
No Responsibility Taken
on Earth as it is in Heaven.”
~ The Wascally Wabbi 🥕🐰
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it is easy to understand
the man standing outside
the ancient scuzzy nudie bar
often poets without words
afraid to experience
willing to witness
writers expired
more than
once
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That rascally Rabbi found me
at the Scuzzy Bar drinking gin
He accused me of stealing
from the collection tray … Tell me,
how else was I supposed to get in?
Is being a thief now a crime?
The Rabbi then joined me at the bar
and ordered another round
Just two scuzz balls covered in sin
killing time in Placebo Town
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never stay at a hotel
that offers a discount
on rooms without doors
panocha extra
Polaroid optional
(+) meanwhile in the lobby
self-exploration——self-discovery
LikeLiked by 1 person
The Placebo Hilton
has glass floors
and ceilings
If you turn on
the speaker system
you can hear
yourself thinking
A coin in the slot
and the noise will stop
but the tap
keeps on dripping
Best not fight it
and go with the flow
“Crimson and clover
Over and over . . . ”
For a small tip
the night porter
will take the bars
off the window
then go and greet you
… way down below
LikeLike
imagine riding a creature from the Bible
headless horses and demons with horns
uncaged humans for Christ
the list was passed to me
and I didn’t sign
I gave my word
spent my life
trying
to
overcome
the downward drift
the laboring for disintegration
LikeLiked by 1 person
(fruitful collaboration)
baby raised with elders (+) baby at a fast pace
read and write and wrestle with numbers
make automobiles stand up and scream
independent with unlimited funds
friends with open needs
wrongheaded sex
then drugs won
night porter
world
LikeLiked by 1 person
Being a rich man’s son
is a heavy burden.
Fortunately for me,
in the final distribution
I got none
after becoming
a comfortably numb
refugee among
the Little Sisters
of the Rising Sun.
My deals were the purest
and much cheaper than
the night porter’s.
Naturopathic medicine
should never be trodden upon,
and cheap chemicals
are strictly for street children.
You must always
keep your receipts
at the Placebo Hilton,
as friends with fiscal deficits,
fringe benefits, and
irresistible hormonal needs,
are all tax deductible.
As Mister Jagger once said
. . . Let it bleed.
Now,
things are more than even
. . . as I’m far richer
than my father ever was,
on Earth as it is in Heaven.
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Tommy James and the Shondells
outside singing “Crimson and Clover”
nuggets of wisdom floating down the river
witty remarks and wisecracks tangled up and visible
locals would try to wash away their psychological problems
often finding it a mistake to expose their baggage to the public
other-worldly conversations
space ship comings and goings
tightening exercises for buttocks
LikeLiked by 1 person
The hysterical bride
in the penny arcade
Screaming she moans,
“I’ve just been made.”
Then sends out for the doctor,
who pulls down the shade
And says, “My advice is
to not let the boys in.”
Now, the medicine man comes
and he shuffles inside
He walks with a swagger
and he says to the bride,
“Stop all this weeping,
swallow your pride
You will not die,
it’s not poison.”
~ Bob Dylan
LikeLike
born with a bend
the greater the lesser
old man Rabbi speaks of the witness
many words and deeds set to memory
no known structures to the dark testaments
LikeLiked by 1 person
300 Nigerian schoolgirls kidnapped
. . . but thank goodness Lady Gaga
got her 3 french bulldogs back.
As a repercussion, I was ejected
from the League of Aryan Women.
Those Nazi britches accused me of
collaboration, but I was nowhere
near Lady Gaga’s doghouse at the
time, and I don’t have a gun.
The Rabbi tried to console me by
saying that an eye for an eye is the
best eyewitness when it comes to
blind justice. I saw the light, and
gave up my highly successful life
of crime. The one thing that rascally
Rabbi didn’t tell me . . . when will
sweet vengeance is mine?
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the Rabbi had a weird sense of humor
he would chuckle at
“all Welcome to Eden signs
have been taken down”
———————-
———————-
years later the shadows of angels
continue to be visible
autumnal fire on postcards
proof of the passage of time
LikeLiked by 1 person
Maxfield Parrish once took us
for a fun outing to the shadow
grounds of Eden. The minefields
had all been cleared so it was
quite safe to run around. Anyway,
I’m certain angels were watching.
It was a sunny Saturday, and the
Rabbi had to stay at the Placebo
Town synagogue, so we took the
opportunity to drink some grog,
and smoke cigarettes.
All of us children then went fishing.
A few of us, having drunk too much,
even fell into the river.
Mister Parrish just smiled, saying,
“No wonder all I can do is paint the
Garden of Eden. There’s no going
back with such bad behaviour.”
I went for a swim, as he got the
girls to do some modelling.
LikeLike
I was deep in artificial sleep when
they started shaving off the bottoms
of my feet, yes, shaving off the bottoms
I signed a piece of paper stating that I understood
the dangers involved with my procedure
thinking that they would know
WHEN TO STOP
LikeLiked by 1 person
there’s just
no accounting
for the digital sheep
in an artificial sleep
all caught up in
the running of the bulls
on a superficial Wall Street
dreaming the good life
a ship of fools
sinking deep
in the darkness of night
but to dream
you must still be asleep
Arise, and Christ
will give you light
your soul to keep
LikeLike
I recall the difficult times
as a child in Sunday School
my friend the Rabbi had taught me
many things, to question everything
to find humor in difficult subject matter
I was knee deep in anything Adam and Eve
in Sunday School they were our parents
minus the Reader’s Digest apple & sin
minus the serpent with his advice
(+) potty trained as adults
LikeLiked by 1 person
The Rabbi once told me that it is better
to live on the roof than share the house
with a nagging wife. I then asked him
why he was hanging on to the chimney,
to which he replied, “Such is Life!”
The rascally Rabbi is a master of comedy.
LikeLike
Maxfield Parrish left Placebo Town in 1966
he was a whimsical sort of fellow
noted for mythological scenes
hippies loved his paintings
Judeo-Christian perfect
a snapshot of Heaven
the day-glow colors
were a violation
of Robert Frost
LikeLike
Fleeing a town
called Placebo
I blew into the Windy City
on my Harley
having taken route 66
all the way
from New Mexico
It was just after 3:30
in the morning
and that Motown sound
was thick in the air
People dancing in the street
to Martha and the Vandellas
The Temptations
and The Supremes
all Marvin Gaye
with slick down afro hair
(Why those two English white boys,
Mick Jagger and David Bowie, did that
cover version is beyond despair.
It just didn’t have that Motown feeling.
What’s more, it was embarrassing!
Placebotown Records has much to
answer for.)
LikeLike
David Bowie doesn’t respond to external sources
Mick Jagger’s discovery of reality
has introduced a spell of regret
he thought that he was a part
of the natural world
he was wrong
LikeLiked by 1 person
the non-physical aspects of physical objects
event night at the library
thoughts and feelings float
through the building
in a regular rhythm
accumulating at the feet
of the librarian
structures of words
closely similar
some the size
of an automobile
event night
is a party of returns
and repetitions
life passing before us
life as litter behind us
people beg to be rounded-off
but judgment is sharp edged
JUDGMENT cuts the excess skin off your penis
LikeLiked by 1 person
The first cut
is the deepest
with nowhere to hide
Uncircumcised barbarians
and promiscuous librarians
are all good for big business
Yet life is a frantic bris
suspended in the ceremonies
of tribal pride
Inanimate objects kept alive
with hallucinogenics
and formaldehyde
The blockbuster autopsy
to be aired on Netflix
an open and shut case
of foreskin genocide
LikeLike
event night at the library
told to say something
never said before
speak as if “almost a voice”
listen as if “you’re late and chasing yourself”
post-coital poetry
speak or listen ?
separate lives sharing sweat
no time for discovery
the scars on his dong
the colors of her flaps
the circus comes and goes
event night
the significant acts
lined up ready to pop
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foreplay poetry
with the total of my sum
is all the Head Librarian
ever asks of me
as it stirs her into action
in the getting of satisfaction
demanding that miracle to come
LikeLike
at the event
men who dabbled in poetry
were high suspect
with a hand on the Bible
they were marked by hesitation
expressive difficulties
always the backward glance
LikeLiked by 1 person
Ayatollah Abbas Tabrizian
(well known as an enthusiastic flu
jabber of the Arabian night scene)
says that the Covid-19 vaccine will
make you gay.
The rascally Rabbi says that’s right,
as catching Corona is no fun, so be
a chum and get some gay time
vaccination done.
LikeLike
language at the event was metaphorical
the exact nature of reality
was lost in a heavy fog
beyond sensitive humans
seeking friendship
or trying to describe
human predicaments
(+) the differences of gender overpowered
by the differences between book readers
and television viewers
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the librarian said,
“one can’t make hamburger without grinding
up a little meat”
the whole time she was giving my crotch the big eye
LikeLiked by 1 person
I once returned a borrowed book
to the Placebo Town Library
(The Dharma Bums,
by Jack Kerouac, to be exact.)
with the pages all folded back
and the spine badly broken
The Head Librarian just glared at me
saying that the last person to fold
back her pages was Bob Dylan
Since at the time
he didn’t have a single dime
to pay her fine
Bob bravely accepted his punishment
as she worked on his spine
He was lucky to have survived
her equipment secreted down in
the Placebo Town Library basement
Yet he never complained . . . much
to her profound disappointment
The Head Librarian then enquired
was I prepared to take my medicine
like a man
as it would require
much literary discipline
I politely requested that
I’d be allowed take it
like a freewheelin’ Bob Dylan
as the grinder in her basement
miraculously switched itself on
“Well, I got a woman,
five feet short,
she yells, and hollers,
and screams, and snorts.
She tickles my nose,
pats me on the head,
rolls me over,
and kicks me out of bed
She’s a man-eater,
meat-grinder, bad loser.”
~ Bob Dylan
LikeLike
it seems that most engines in Placebo Town
are driven by pharmaceutical fuel
groups of young people
with ladders reaching
music becomes
a salary
young people with taller ladders even more urgent
constant threats from above and below
it is not enough that one succeeds
others must fail, fall to Placebo
LikeLiked by 1 person
Submerged in the juices
of fruits forbidden
a Placebo Town drowning
is the Jimi Hendrix experience
In the distance
a golden soap dish
whispers . . . “Make a wish.”
For dreamers in a trance
pseudo gods and goddesses
life is a bubble in the bathtub
of Mount Olympus
where Whitney Houston
sleeps with the fishes
Below the surface
the Sorcerer laughs
as fate dances victorious
with both life’s winners
and death’s losers
Down the drain
of a Placebo Town brownstone
they are one and the same
… bad saints and great sinners
LikeLike
circumstanced with dark shades
testaments to the torments
poison after poison
begging God
to be less of
a trespasser
boundaries
private insights
ladders to motel beds
love not to take, only to accept
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The Tower of Babel
reduced to scorched gravel
after a rapid unplanned disassembly
worthy of an Elon Musk Space X lift off
The more things change
always more of the same
All is solar powered vanity
LikeLike
the famous guy from Italy
with his boyfriend so young
they were more clean than clean
the boyfriend was tuned into my eyes
he was fingering his lips, what did it mean ?
I was the lowest of swine, never clean in my life
——————-were they going to borrow my ladder ?
LikeLiked by 1 person
the famous guy from Italy
with his boyfriend so young
who looked better in person
than on those flashy covers
Daddy was more fascinated
by the beauty of words
than any bohemian
bathhouse boy
Daddy had the key to the closet
where the more mature ladders
were safely stored in their stalls
many people came to the house
desperate to borrow a long climb
(+) peeking over the top of a Beardsley drawing
LikeLiked by 1 person
Intoxicated
like a Jackson Pollock
high on his ladder
dripping the quixotic
Splashes of light
where the meaningless
meets a poetic frolic
splattering brilliance
The heart of a child
is where art surpasses
this broken existence
LikeLike
HE who seldom soars to any heights
of sustained introspection
lacks the ladder power
(+) slippage incurred between man and ladder
whispers of a vehicle suited for confessional lifts
push a button and bang your head on heaven
push a button and a camera records your soul
how much you see on the outside
and how much on the inside
are you a good lad ?
I am bruised
impoverished
financial fleas
moral parasites
quoted in manure
at odds with the world
LikeLiked by 1 person
“But the soul became the steps
of its ladder, closest, nearest,
near, far, further, furthest. First
she is my own being, then she
is a serpent and a bird, then she
is mother and father, then even
further away Salome and Elijah.”
~ Carl Jung
LikeLike
asked to teach Abe Lincoln
to use a telephone
abnormally
fond of his dong
the brute force it could endure
LikeLiked by 1 person
at what age does one outgrow drunks and floozies ?
the sign outside town
what does it say ?
mischievously scissored private parts
tinkering with holes and dongs
Ed Sheeran singing “perfect”
deep inside a wedding-cake
says that he can hump
thirteen times a night
LikeLiked by 1 person
A ginger poodle
was barking at me
as I entered
the Placebo Town Library
It kept repeating the same words
“Don’t go in there!
Wake up, you are dreaming.”
The head librarian
looked up and smiled at me
as I handed back a book
of William Blake poetry
“Just ignore that little scottish terrier.
He’s no tiger, tiger, burning bright.
He belongs In the forests of the night.”
It was the first time she had
graced me with her humour
Till then it had all been late fines
and physical trauma
She then reached up for a book
high on the top shelf
Clearing off some dust and cobwebs
she carefully handed it to me
… ‘Arachnida in Living Colour’
saying she thought I’d be interested
Having never seen
another soul in her library
I asked if she worked there
all by herself
To which she simply
opened the office door
situated next to the stairway
down to the lower basement
and there was this rather
rotund girl sitting there
eating a ham sandwich
whilst doing some paperwork
“This is Thorax, my assistant.
But never forget,
I am the Head,
who gives and takes
with my words of silk.
I’ve decided you have committed
a crime by handing in that
poetry book on time,
and you must now be fully read.
Come down the stairs with me,
down deep where I keep my eggs
upon a web like a feather bed.”
I was soon left wishing I’d listened
to that ginger poodle who sounded
just like Ed Sheeran
for that Head Librarian had me
reciting over and over again . . .
“To see the world in a grain of sand,
and to see heaven in a wild flower,
hold infinity in the palm of your hands, and eternity in an hour.”
The trauma was more
than I could stand
That black widow
and her sense of humour
LikeLike
at the airport, men with guns escort you to a backroom
you calm yourself thinking about the pretty boy
that was arm-in-arm with the famous Italian
his skin was so perfectly molded, those ears
you ask yourself, “how can he be so clean ?”
LikeLiked by 1 person
“I hear you.
Plates shift perpetually and
nothing can be done. Nothing
comes close to the disruption
unrequited love does bring.”
~ Sappho of Lesbos
“Art and love are the same thing:
It’s the process of seeing yourself
in things that are not you.”
~ Chuck Klosterman
LikeLike
at the airport, men with guns escort you to a backroom
in the background, Tommy James and the Shondells
are performing, “Crimson and Clover”
the song is on a loop, a death-wish
was it dark secrets, drowning
enough doors would open
cash money on demand
wrestling for more
a sturdy Daddy
ladder
LikeLiked by 1 person
“The greatest tragedy of the family
is the unlived lives of the parents.”
~ Carl Jung
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Daddy got very nervous about photographs
of his daughters and his ladders
a photo and an address
could spell misfortune
servants entered
the ladder barn
completely
nude
LikeLiked by 1 person
It is not all about
reaching the top
but catching the view
along each step
Snakes and Ladders
a Placebo Town best seller
among the working classes
A playground for rock spiders
where Jungle Jim hunts little tiger
Lolitas and their sugar daddies
caught in a web being spun
Sons and daughters playing
happy families
Mothers and fathers
devouring their young
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6pm news
small boy sitting on steps crying
why did he stop to enjoy the view ?
his family and friends safe and rewarded
while he chose an altogether different path
for the love of appreciation, his private imagining
the gate closed, the cork popped
Death dressed for the night
layers of dark fibers
delight void
LikeLiked by 1 person
nostalgia for death
stumbling blank verse
on the library shelf of thought
fresh characters arrive in Placebo City
a people in the act of finding what will suffice
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Placebo existence is a balancing act ☯️
on the tightrope of least resistance
At least you can seek forgiveness
from the Priest of the Beast who
oversees that survival goes to
the very fittest undefeated
of tribal primal and eats
any vanquished rival
in pursuit of all
that’s trivial
Placebo!
Let’s
Go!
🏁
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one visits the library to confirm what one fears
what sparked a pseudo-phallic stampede ?
ladders now safe in their stalls
foreskins lightly powdered
the librarian making fun
of those who ran
for shelter
“DICKS”
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I was once married to a librarian
from the Placebo Town gene pool.
She claimed me as her very own
barbarian, and instructed me to
dive right in 🌊🧜♀️🌅🏄♂️
Well I didn’t come here to deal
with a doggone thing
I just came here to hear
the drummer’s cymbal ring
There ain’t no way
you can put me down
I just want to say that
Hell’s my wife’s home town
Well there’s reasons for that
and reasons for this
I can’t think of any just now,
but I know they exist
I’m sitting in the sun
‘til my skin turns brown
I just want to say that
Hell’s my wife’s home town
Home town, home town
She can make you steal,
make you rob
Give you the hives,
make you lose your job
Make things bad,
she can make things worse
She got stuff more potent
than a gypsy curse
One of these days,
I’ll end up on the run
I’m pretty sure she’ll make me
kill someone
I’m going inside,
roll the shutters down
I just want to say that
Hell’s my wife’s home town
Well there’s plenty to remember,
plenty to forget
I still can remember the day we met
I lost my reason long ago
My love for her is all I know
State gone broke, the county’s dry
Don’t be looking at me
with that evil eye
Keep on walking,
don’t be hanging around
I’m telling you again that
Hell’s my wife’s home town
Home town, home town
~ Bob Dylan
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rumors circulating in Placebo Town
that Scholastic Aptitude Tests
were showing up loaded
ready to be given
without notice
MATH WAS NO LONGER “USER-FRIENDLY”
the library staff were two poops past nervous
the ladies were having trouble spelling “feminism”
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At the Institute of
Placebo Town Obedience Training
they made me
sit around all day wearing grey
I would just stare out the window
dreaming of flying away
as they tried teaching me
to lead with greed
Failure meant being condemned
to follow
Captives compelled to breed
for a productive future
Everybody was told they were full
rather than hollow
“May the bountiful seed be with you.”
That they were either a pretty pink
ever open to life’s flowing poetry
or a solid blue
always ready to push on through
but it wasn’t true
They were all a flaccid grey
exposed by the petty things
they would think, do, and say
Pseudo Enterprises®
socially engineered it that way
Dreamers asleep
till their dying day
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in a free country
freedom is taken away
so everyone can be free
I sacrifice my freedom for others
so everyone can be free
I must settle for scraps
dog shit half-time
entertainment
it all makes
sense
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feeling incarcerated and domesticated
thank God I can go to a Dollar Store
and drop a load
(+) the lady at the checkout tells me that her eggs are larger than my sperms
perhaps she spent a lot of time in the prison library
the joy of understanding for its own sake
them eggs are bigger than them sperms
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pool hall poetry about women’s dreams
the frequency
that snakes swallow whole
the sound of doors being shut
one puzzle turns into another one
the prison of the body
one long digest
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and every man wanting to touch
to rub his personal chicken fat
all around your vulva
your frilly ass vulva
wanting to release the imprisoned forces
to go so deep that slant eyes peer out
the boys at the pool hall
identifying women
by appearance
generous with form
content
not so much
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hiding under a rug
with sunglasses
saying thank you
to men who stole
from the love jar
telling them to take more
just take it all
and never try to think of me
as anything more
than an androgynous bug
SUPERFICIAL
in so many ways
above and below
the belt
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pool hall poetry is one word projected onto another
a collection of words projected onto another collection
complex literary locations
the vulva
cast light
on the vulva
explore
but THINK
before you act
cave of delight
is a cruel possession
men at the pool hall
quote
“once upon a time”
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just crazy enough to lift the lid
and have a peek at Chaos
pool hall poets
stand back
disproportionate attention
“to read what has been read”
the Placebo City Library dawdling
good boys and girls color inside the lines
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At the Placebo Town
School of the Golden Rule
the big day had finally come
A lesson in show and tell
they called Sex Education
involving an overnight stay
at the Honeymoon Hotel
“Come as you are!
No need to bring a thing.
If you’re packing heat
be sure to use a silencer.
And always remember
to hide and not tell.”
Being high on mass opium
I was under the illusion
the idea was to have fun
but the Golden Rule
is simply to get the job done
The Night Manager
at the Honeymoon Hotel
is patiently waiting for
the next feckless generation
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Well, I been prayin’ for salvation
Layin’ ’round
in a one-room country shack
Go walk down that dirt road
until my eyes begin to bleed
‘Til there’s nothin’ left to see
‘Til the chains have been shattered
and I been freed
But I been lookin’ at my shadow,
I been watchin’ the clouds up above
Rollin’ through the rain and hail
Lookin’ for the sunny side of love
Go on that dirt road
’til everything becomes the same
I keep on walkin’
’til I hear her holler out my name
~ Bob Dylan
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somewhere in the back of your mind
a poster
of a librarian
who will forge missing links
in your developmental chain
“to hell with experiencing life unmediated”
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I was once married
to a literary refugee
from the Placebo Library
She was well read
as she taught me the rules
and regulations of purgatory
You can take the girl
out of a Placebo Town
private girls school
but deep down
in her private realm
she still longs to be free
It’s no secret
that the Head Librarian
holds the key to that prison
Every now and then
she puts on her uniform
and unlocks it for me
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to bring a halt
to the collapse
of dong culture
both the subject
and its erotic fixation
the librarian arrives early
she avoids the sensation known as
post-coital silence
what does one say ?
globs of goo
pubic hair
that smells like bacon
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In a land of stone monoliths
where size mattered
I was born with the gift of flesh
and the will to use it
The Head Master
at the School of the Golden Rule
thought me just a fool
with a sharp chisel
and feared I’d abuse it
But the Head Librarian
always ready to lend a hand
showed me just how to use it
Life then became
a restless journey
in search of that perfect fit
Flesh > Soul > and Spirit
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The Head Librarian was painting
her nails as I entered the building.
“Look”, she said, “it’s the latest thing!
Fusion gel . . . see how it sparkles.
I can’t get enough of the stuff.”
Suddenly her false nails turned into
tentacles growing out of her fingers,
as she whispered, “I know you like
it rough, but I promise to be tender
with your part and particles.”
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death
conscious efforts to avoid it
no new Christmas, no holiday
sick-room litter a foot deep
the night porter in Key West
loving the teats on dancing men
the only real life
between the grip of their thighs
self-fulfillment
taking curves on two wheels
pressing the rubber hard
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STORYBOOK CHATTER
renew the marital relationship
with honeymoon enthusiasm
or shut down the production
the art of pleasuring someone else
(+) one feeds the cat and licks the can
joyless lovemaking
thinking about shopping lists
or your cousin’s husband
the one with the thick
curved dong
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The Head Librarian
was showing off her
brand new sequined thong
Pirouetting around to the sound
of an old Suzi Quatro song …
“Watch out the tiger
don’t go claw the eagle’s eye,
but let the eagle
take the tiger by surprise.
Scratch out her eyes.
So make a stand for your man,
honey,
try to can the can.
Put your man in the can,
honey,
get him while you can.”
The Head Librarian
was joyously singing along
All sugar, spice, and fairy floss
She was obviously high as a kite
on that Fusion Gel ™
after using it as an inhalant
and a lip gloss
For anyone else in Placebo Town
it would be a capital crime
but not for that library
Sugar Plum Fairy Queen
and part time dominatrix
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