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 
outside the motel window
the sweep of great passions
real and fake grooms making haste
adventures can come to a sudden halt
breasts turn into limp pancakes
the brook dries up
it all becomes a cruel memory
the fancy saddle on a movie star
the lover who chewed wallpaper off
who had to have her hips put back in place
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Dance me to your beauty with a burning violin
Dance me through the panic till I’m gathered safely in
Touch me with your naked hand or touch me with your glove
Dance me to the end of love
He was just some Joseph looking for a manger, DR
But easily one of the top 3 influences in my life and outlook.
Cheers!
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The dealer, all dressed in his rags
of light, watching for that card so
high and wild. But there’ll never
be another Leonard Cohen.
It may well be closing time, yet
we’ve been left a fully loaded deck,
all set for the holy game of poker.
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Placebo Town
nostalgia for her smell
the taste of her oral bruises
questionnaires tossed aside
weak strings and excuses
prodded, stretched, gouged
massaged enough to reform
power is pleasure
power runs no errands
as a poet one might be expected
to perform some kind of turnaround
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reinterpreted Mammon @ Placebo Town
subject matter at the poetry workshop
“interpretations reinterpreted 2020”
shortcomings in a low life opera
stolen words from a prison library
employees scripted, told to stay silent
witnesses wearing targets as a reminder
“to go clear one must be cleared”
the nauseating tastes
senior citizen textures
leaking humiliations
to be Adam
to be Eve
to be a carrier
having
given consent
(having given consent)
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Consent
never requested
nor granted
by the Pirates of Penzance
and all those
Deep State mercenaries
doing the dance without pants
Yet the good citizens
of Placebo Town
have full expectations
of winning God’s grace
in a crooked game of chance
Red or black
whilst the big wheel
is still spinning
there’s no breaking the bank
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CONSENT IN GHOSTLINESS
poets afraid to discuss problematic sodomy
afraid to confess about the older boys
fingering the poultry in class
encouraging self-performance
even straight jocks watched
heavy-lidded dongs
he-men with ramrods
a million years of taste
countless voices in the semen
a parade of DNA
and God-knows-what
the weaker ones being dined on
cannibal sperm
yes, cannibal sperm
sperm with a tail
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The fat sugar game
Pride and prejudice
Juicing the voodoo stain
Exploring empty space
Infusing the seduced
Rockets in orbit
A joyful moan
Driven home
Fuelling the poetic
With a pheromone boost
Cascading syrup
Of the ripened poet
And a honed artist
On a mystery trip genetic
Yet barely
Scratching the surface
Of a carbonated planet
Reaching for the real deal
The true magic
Love for Art sake
Art for Love sake
You’ll never regret it
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“Cheeseburger Propaganda:
The poetry of Placebo Town is
mostly upsized junk food lies,
served with gravy, haikus, and
french fries on the side.”
~ Avid D. Darepth
“A good poem is a contribution to
reality. The world is never the same
once a good poem has been added
to it. A good poem helps to change
the shape of the universe, helps to
extend everyone’s knowledge of
himself and the world around him.”
~ Dylan Thomas
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reminiscences
athletics with the good hand
the aroma of a high school harlot
other females elevated themselves higher
they came at an astronomical price
sitting at home sterile
college
the drums of college
farts in a room full of observers
private farts for a lover to extract
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“We can complain because rose
bushes have thorns, or rejoice
because thorn bushes have roses.”
~ Abraham Lincoln
“Dear Wheeler:
you provide the prose poems.
I’ll provide the war.”
~ Charles Foster Kane
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all those people stuck to the glue paper of the past
objects on display, hair and teeth and bones
poor Joan of Arc in there somewhere
what some say are the flapping of wings
might just be the fluttering of souls
the vast mustiness of the past
I saw myself under a huge stone
holding what I thought was silence
was it a gift ?
or something stolen ?
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Your imagination = Bravo! 😘
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Grazie, Eugenia 💛🙏
My fevered imagination happily
over stimulated by the lyrics of
Leonard Cohen (not to mention
Bob Dylan … so I won’t 😎).
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Cohen, an unsurpassed legend and Dylan so talented and way before his time.
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Indeed Eugenia. Leonard Cohen has passed beyond. But time seems to be
slowly catching up with Bob Dylan.
He just turned 79. Yet his words and
music sublime remain timeless.
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all those episodes of Adam and Eve on HBO
poor Eve busy questioning
climb the mountain of future Moses
or ride the coattails of evolution
she could hear the voices
of future generations
Adam gloomy without God
downhearted with the endless chores
the constant struggle of the boys
rumors about the downfall
the really crappy truth
(Bob Dylan singing a tune about being railroaded by a rib)
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Slaves to the jism
The trance of substance
Fleeting skin deeps
Of biological romance
Freedom in the rhythm
Fertility
Creativity
Somewhere
Under the rainbow
Of eternity
An unfolding dream
The May Queen
A sacrificial teen
learns to pole dance
Upon the head of a pin
Summer is coming
Flowers are blossoming
All creation unravelling
Soon the harvest
Of a slow train coming
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POETRY
a bag of contradictions
left behind by a family of hobos
the thought of Robert Frost
throwing darts at a poster of Carl Sandburg
Adam planting, pruning, picking, digging, raking
and chopping before noon
Adam holding court with the boys
the concept of right and wrong
never being good enough
POETRY
pocked by negative thoughts
pocked from gunfire
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PLACEBO CONTRADICTIO
“We are all born free.
and spend a lifetime.
becoming slaves.”
~ Atticus
“Woman is the nigger of the world,
yes she is. If you don’t believe me
take a look to the one you’re with.
Oh, woman is the slave to the slaves.”
~ John Lennon
“My role in society, or any artist
or poet’s role, is to try and express
what we all feel. Not to tell people
how to feel. Not as a preacher,
not as a leader, but as a reflection
of us all!”
~ John Lennon
“A working class hero
is something to be.
If you want to be a hero
well just follow me. ”
~ John Lennon
“Imagine there’s no heaven
It’s easy if you try
No hell below us
Above us only sky
Imagine all the people
Living for today … ”
~ John Lennon
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“From the weeping holes
of a pockmarked soul
the prose of love and loss
flows like a garden hose.”
~ Roman Manson
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POETRY
the monologue of a King
interrupted by homeless people
negative to battered farm animals
employed at petting zoos
negative to hobos
watching nudists play tennis
negative to villagers with pitchforks
a common colony of mind
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PRIVILEGE
Rocked between
A virus and a hard place
All wrapped up
In a cosmic sandwich
I have become the enigma
The destroyer of innocence
The ravaging reaper
A shadow succubus
Of unbridled madness
With a taste
For extreme lust
The dark passenger
Of this broken existence
The raging pathogen
Defiling all creation
I am the rocks
In the coat pockets
Of Virginia Woolf
As she sank
In the River Ouse
And held her close
As she took
Her final breath
In my very presence
Even life’s winners
Will eventually lose
For I have become
Their certain death
The past and the future
I am fallen human nature
As for the hereafter
Only a chosen few
Ever get to choose
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“We’re all looking at the same events
and interpreting them wildly differently. That’s how cognitive dissonance and
confirmation bias work. They work
together to create a spontaneous
hallucination that gets reinforced over
time. That hallucination becomes your
reality until something changes.”
~ Scott Adams
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I loved your evocation of the spirit of Leonard Cohen, and your image is a perfect vision of his tower of song.
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Thank you in perpetuity, Liz 💛 😎
All the rocket ships 🚀
are climbing through the sky
The holy books are open wide 📖
The doctors working day and night
But they’ll never ever find🔬
that cure for love 💝
(There ain’t no drink🥃, no drug 💊)
ah, tell them, angels 😇
(There’s nothing pure enough
to be a cure for love 💛)
~ Leonard Cohen
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You’re welcome, David.
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poetry with a substitute narrator
simpleminded readers sitting on thumbtacks
advised to do nothing
the best thing to do
is to do nothing
permit dead people
to speak with your lips
words that seem to uproot
scrawny beards
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When dealing with a case
of Necro-Ventriloquism
I always give The Go-Go’s
a good listen …
“Can you see them?
See right through them.
They have no shield.
No secrets to reveal.
Our lips are sealed.
There’s a weapon
that we must use.
When you look at them
look right through them.
That’s when they’ll disappear.
That’s when we’ll be feared.
Our lips are sealed.”
~ The Go-Go’s
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finding it difficult to share a pillow
with Rudolph Valentino
limitations and exaggerations
fleshless hands in gloves
a heartless rib cage
a pelvis of comedy and tragedy
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Rudy Valentino
The Great Latin Lover
That Hollywood Sheik
Could never stay true
With only a shroud for cover
So easy to see through
Ghost bites on the pillow
Just a mirage down below
A Matinee idol
Making a final show
Scenarios and alibis
A tangled tango
At a desert oasis
As those slave girls sing
Rest in peace
Rudolf Valentino
In that marble mausoleum
Fit for a king
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trying to unravel the fetal positions
that crowd the cemetery
trying to wipe the placental fluids
from family tombstones
childhood embarrassment
constantly trying to shrivel back
back past the mark of God
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Shame
is nothing
to be proud of
An accursed schism
Eternal ☯️ Temporal
The higher you climb
That taste of true freedom
the harder to reconcile
The spirit of man
resents his rotting prison
I blame those two hippies
ejected from Nirvana’s Garden
Along with Kurt Cobain
and a loaded shotgun
That superman high
was strickly forbidden
Now it’s all helpless Lois Lane
and that lame Jimmy Olsen
What a come down!
Such a shame
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finding it difficult to share a pillow with Satan
the adversary continues his struggle
his snazzy music and modern art visuals
his red sports cars and $700 socks
he offers all things to all people
Bob Dylan was blessed with pericarditis
the wild cur on a leash
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On the double
The Rebel Rebel
Who tore the address
Off that angelic beast
Dylan and the villain
That leaping lizard
Camouflaged with stealth
Who will sell you a placebo
Whilst stroking your ego
With pride and prejudice
Fame and wealth
But that game’s gotten old
That hot tramp
Leaves me cold
I need a lover
Who won’t drive me crazy
To have and to hold
The Saviour above all other
The King of the Highway
Beyond silver and gold
And all worldly power
Jesus Christ
The Prince
Of perfect peace
Is now my strong tower
On a celestial pillow
Above all care and sorrow
I get the lion’s share
Of a dream like tomorrow
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human utterances on the pillow
four-legged things about the room
leftovers from grammar school
valentines with dirty words
a photo of the gym teacher
who sucked you
and got nowhere
perhaps he was Jimmy Olsen
after he discovered Clark Kent
wasn’t a real man
big and rugged on the outside
but not down below
it was Cloaca from Outer Space
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Jimmy Olsen was known for saying weird things about religion
that those who loved God lived in one neighborhood
and those who loved God without FEAR
well, they lived in a better place
close enough to see the White Throne
the roots of heaven bare and visible
untrammeled
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There is no condemnation
for those who are in Christ
He’s an unconditional saviour
But when it comes
to loving my neighbour
I’m a complete failure
As I reside at No. 668
right next door to the Beast
He throws very loud parties
that go on till late
But he does invite me at least
saying . . .
“Ladies, please bring a plate.”
Plus the house
across the street
with the white picket fence
is where Jimmy Olsen lives
And he’s a real pest
I really wish he was dead
He keeps coming over
asking for a cup of sugar
Next time … a cup
of Afghan heroin instead 😎
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Jimmy Olsen was known for saying
“to fully appreciate the grace of God
one must plumb the depths of evil”
Jimmy was an odd sort of fellow
he started out in the big city
and finally came to a halt
in Placebo Town
systematic exercises
for young impressionable boys
he knew a lot about Satan and his deep secrets
his limits of power and his condo in heaven
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Jimmy’s condo
was burnt down
so now he’s paying rent
He blamed a race riot
in Placebo Town
But it was actually Clark Kent
with his Kryptonian X-ray vision
He had spyed Jimmy Olsen
giving Lois Lane
a Daily Planet headline
In Metropolis that’s a crime
(but in Gotham City
they do it all the time)
“Never again will I trust a Jimmy!”
Clark said,
“Whether it’s a Morrison, an Olsen,
or a Swaggart!”
As he burnt that condo down
But the fault
was all with Superman
For he had broken the heart
of Lois Lane
His kryptonite appendage
was of too great a span
Even Lex Luthor was heard
to complain
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WHEN THEY HANDED OUT THE PILLS
THAT CAUSED ONE TO BE NAIVELY NOSTALGIC
I took a handful
I wanted to skip
the hostility towards grown-ups
just play and
play and then wrap the car around a tree
join the sky people and sing Sgt. Pepper tunes
being confident of the future up above
I found myself happier than ever before
(happy on happy pills)
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Those jagged little pills
Can never cure your ills
A Jimmy Dean Spyder scene
Driving into those hills of green
Driven to despair
What’s been lost is lost
What’s to come is the real thing
Found in wonder, love, and prayer
Whispered in visions of a dream
I tell you the truth
I have heard the angels sing
Through the light
Of a celestial beam
Above and beyond
I needed no more proof
So I took up the fight
To find that Kingdom within
Transformation
Creation flowing
With Christ ever in sight
One can only win
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raised in a family cult raised as an object of affection
small town American witchcraft Placebo Town signified
everyone has departed buried deep covered with stones
I remain upright and sadly the butterfly flown
I remember the first time
I was no longer myself
friends guarded their tongues
and their children
no longer permitted to participate
I found myself a ghost
(the people at the car rental counter
said that they don’t often see my kind)
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After midnight
Just when Crazy Mama
Begins to twist and shout
The man they call the Breeze
Blows in from Placebo Town
Singing a line of Cocaine
It always seems
To put her mind at ease
And settle her down
Those old protest songs
About the wrong
Done to the Việt Cộng
Long ago in Vietnam
Martin Luther King
Tricky Dicky Nixon
And Viva Revolution
Crazy Mama can sing them
All night and all day long
“If life’s little downs
they keep coming around,
carry on, carry on.
With darkness all about,
you want to scream and shout,
carry on, carry on.
Don’t cry baby,
look at where you’ve been.
Everybody knows
you just need a friend.
Please, please, please,
if you’re down on your knees,
carry on, carry on.
Your head is full of doubt,
you can’t figure it out,
carry on, carry on.
Between the time it takes
to make all those mistakes,
carry on, carry on.
It don’t matter
what you say or do
It just seems to work out
if you want it to
Let out all the slack,
take it off your back.
Carry on, carry on.”
~ J. J. Cale
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surrogate words
flesh and blood rituals
you were told to keep your mouth shut
no one broke the code of silence
layers of initiations
layers of measures
sexual sizes
children with adult hands
smoking tobacco
and other psychodrama drugs
finding fellowship in Placebo Town
romance with the fallen daughters of Eve
harpy-rooted puffy tongues
inducing shudders of response
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a world full of soreheaded occupants
chemically controlled automatons
ignorant of the fact
that any standard
appreciated
living on earth
will cease
with the HOMELESSNESS of death
no physical body
blind without touch
demons of all sizes
yes, constant pain
the older books
refer to it as soul discomfort
but it is much worse than that
you can’t wake up
because you’re constantly awake
afraid of what you will confess
you lack a mouth to keep shut
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DAWN AFTER THE RAID
As a whisper in the darkness
As the hushing of the wind
As the rising of a salmon
When the water rims with ripples
Life moved laboriously over death.
As the programme seller in the audience
Blind to the passion on the stage
As the swimmer in a surging sea
As the Britisher in a foreign country
Life busied itself with death.
The blue overalls and the metal helmets
The lorries, one time used for coal,
The worried warden and the rescue worker
Hovered and hurried among the ruins.
Under this pile of fallen masonry
Under those spillikins of beams
Where number thirty two lies shattered
There may be a body
Dig
For there may be a body.
Distorted corpse once breathed slum air
Lived in the grey dust where it died;
Is it for this that bending we strived
And fought in other’s blood and other’s sorrow
To reach these wretched mangled remains?
Is it for this that we ached in the darkness
Not knowing that nearby
Another house had fallen
To the blast of that same bomb.
Sweat fell, we were not the strong and young
They were out training, preparing,
We are the best of those remaining
We are the mellow and the hardened
And though our backs are hard of bending
Under aloofness our souls bend rending
The sorrow out of the bereaved father’s breast
Tearing it out and holding it in our own hands
Adopting it to our own bodies
Caring for the children we had never seen
Sometimes we pray to be hardened and callous
But God turns a deaf ear
And we know hate and sorrow,
Intimately
And we do not mind dying tomorrow.
~ T. J. M. Corsellis (April 20, 1941)
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the netherworld of Placebo Town
obnoxious relatives and people on the street
senior citizens leaking their insides
slowly becoming the back page of a sleazy tabloid
it is easy to push them out of the way
to summon the hungry dogs
—–callous disregard—–
the insistent presence
of childhood romance
a constant stream of seed
avenues of filth with psychoanalysis
every tombstone has an opening
100 years, 200 years, going strong
perhaps an unscrupulous hip
but no sign of disappointment
down below
the sky people come and go
legitimate narcissism
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almost every poet has a sister
that can turn a somersault
or hypnotize a chicken
(WHAT ABOUT) a sister
that lives in Forks, Washington
sex-exercises men on motorcycles
who wear chrome jewelry with skulls
10,000 prescription bottles
or the cure for exhaustion
Forks Meth with a touch
of poppy dust
(+) all self-imprisonment slips off
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Fairy dust is a must
If you’re going to fly high
From dawn till dusk
At 451 degrees fahrenheit
On a hillbilly poppy blast
Courtesy of a fair lover
All dressed in white
Delivered on horseback
By angels of the night
My sister Ophelia
And her wayward brother
Always got what they were after
From the criminal class
Hidden out of plain sight
(that Jimmy Olsen of Prohibition
ever searching in vain for them)
Mixing up the helter skelter
Seeking shelter from the light
(once Lex Luthor had given
Lois Lane a taste to erase
her kryptonite pain
she kept coming back for more
again and again …
It took a Superman to end
that dead end lane suicide game)
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the neighbors are upset
have been driving the car on their lawns
the tires love the feel of expensive grass
three-headed dogs run wild
having escaped their guard shack
a constant flow across to the other side
sometimes people wave or scream questions
no one dare reply
words can suggest more
than they actually say
(+) words to exploit
(+) words to feel superior to
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“The appalling society of tyrants and slaves in which we survive will find its death and transfiguration only on the
level of creation.” ~ Albert Camus
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ghosts float inside and outside
cloud colored inhales and exhales
don’t run away
GHOSTS WELCOME PLAYMATES
interconnections more likely
than unremembered trauma
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romance with a fast lane to trauma
love notes and valentines
scraps and remnants
the dead baby
unopened
subconscious guilt
life woven into the dark arts
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Ketev Mriri and Lilith reside in Placebo Town
their agents sell white sugar to children
the time of day, the day of week, the month of year
Ketev Mriri rides the line cursing both sides
angry that his evil is not evil enough
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I searched Placebo Town for six months
and never found a single holy picture
of a saint with a halo around his head
men being flogged in a prayer-house, yes
men being flogged in the truck stop showers, yes
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one knew when the demon was about to leave town
the distance measured by the amount of straw
stuffed in the shoes
sometimes in the winter
one could see black prints
from bare feet in the snow
I was told not to ask questions
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how many people have an atonement brother ?
perhaps a sissy-spiced darling doll boy
a circle on the slaughter calendar
the letter of the law by knife
some pinch and some spit
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My sister with the pink hair
From another gremlin mother
Was a troll pencil topper
She seemed to love it up there
Like some literate pole dancer
Her act was a real show stopper
Being at one with the pencil
In the grip of the moving hand
Of Omar Khayyam
Especially when Kahlil Gibran
Gave that pencil
A good sharpening
By any 360 degree
Her calligraphy was outstanding
But with much regret
Her penmanship
Has become irrelevant
Killed by the internet
Where writing requires
No discernible talent
She now hangs out with the likes
Of Jerry Garcia and Malcolm X
Fermenting revolution
Marching in protest
More left than right
And throwing rocks at police
“A race riot”… she says
“… is even better than sex!”
For a white troll doll
With pink hair
What’s next?
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no one mentioned his small knife
with the mother-of-pearl handle
when he polished it
it would say
“Thou shalt not”
grave dust on feet was no joke
women started wearing pants
privates large and yellow
like an angry school bus
unmarried males
closed the windows
and walled themselves in
they have cast out the landscape
resurfacing the revenge of sodomy
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I followed the money trail
That sap laden root of evil
To the land of Mordor
And the heights of Mount Doom
Always in sight
That all seeing eye
Of Placebo Town
Blazing bright
In a pitch black sky
As in a shadow of gloom
There I came across
In that God forsaken land
More lost than found
Princess Eugenia
The High Priestess of Eugenics
From distant Eriador
In appearance
A comely maiden of grace
She greeted me
A humble Ranger of Middle-earth
With a warm embrace
That conveyed without speech
The promise of much more
Then she declared with glee
Her destiny to give birth
To the next master race
The glory of Gondor to restore
As foretold by Saruman the White
The head prognosticator
And lead wizard of Placebo Town
She then beseeched me
To stay with her the night
As she removed her regal gown
With a flash of light
Came the whispered sound
“Beware this scion from
The Witch-Realm of Angmar!
Her plan to spawn
A royal ruling dynasty
Will be the ruination of humanity.”
I knew that voice well
It was the Elf Queen
Galadriel herself
No sooner than her words
Of warning were spoken
The spell
Of this devious seductress
Was broken
And I beheld such a pitiful sight
A twisted soul
Lusting for unnatural power
And worldly might
I tried my best to console her
Saying . . .
“The Gates of Hell,
Bill and Melinda,
Are way ahead of you
When it comes to ruling
And reigning in Mordor.”
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YOU GO TO A PARTY
and you notice important exteroceptive factors
that might suggest the possibility of breeding activity
you quickly rank yourself in the herd
to assert your selfhood over others
you constantly flash
your Dick Tracy
wristwatch
others wear
expensive socks
you think, “how yesterday”
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senior citizen monstrosities
more fantastic than any imagination
could have invented
a scrotum inked with Hebrew letters
Jagger
the man who cannot escape his curse
nightly sightseeing tours of his ejaculation
multitudes of future corpses in his jism
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Jagger and the Boys
are they a service
or a disservice to man ?
the stronger the love for The Rolling Stones
the stronger the absurd grows
each time we listen to their music
we hope we will hear
what has never been heard before
the constant NEED for something new
the absurd human sparks for quantity
quantity over quality except Christmas
who can deny the flowering of life on birthdays ?
meth and poppy dust and outdoors with all the rest
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Mick was just telling me
Whilst tumbling the dice
That despite his face
Getting all wrinkly
He’s still loud
And very proud
That he’s made it to 76
Without growing a pot belly
And still considered sexy
With those rubbery lips
I asked him for just one
New and shiny
Thing under the Sun
As boys still love
To play with their toys
And girls
They just wanna have fun
He said you can’t always get
What you want
Having too much fun
is a Jimi Hendrix crime
So if you see
Something new coming
You’d better run
Then he played me
the new Stones album
Sounding a lot like
The last one
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innocent misspellings and mispronunciations
very few walk the rim without a misstep
faceless beyond the edge of sleep
severed hands holding dreams
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females were constantly drown
and given to the soldiers
for sexual activity
impregnation galore
countless swollen stomachs
diabolical children battlefield born
the dead birthing the Hebrew enemies
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“Well …
the neighborhood bully,
he’s just one man
His enemies say he’s on their land
They got him outnumbered
about a million to one
He got no place to escape to,
no place to run
He’s the neighborhood bully.
The neighborhood bully
he just lives to survive
He’s criticized and condemned
for being alive
He’s not supposed to fight back,
he’s supposed to have thick skin
He’s supposed to lay down and die
when his door is kicked in
He’s the neighborhood bully.
The neighborhood bully
been driven out of every land
He’s wandered the earth an exiled man
Seen his family scattered,
his people hounded and torn
He’s always on trial for just being born
He’s the neighborhood bully.
Well, he knocked out a lynch mob,
he was criticized
Old women condemned him,
said he should apologize
Then he destroyed a bomb factory,
nobody was glad
The bombs were meant for him.
He was supposed to feel bad
He’s the neighborhood bully.
Well, the chances are against it,
and the odds are slim
That he’ll live by the rules
that the world makes for him
‘Cause there’s a noose at his neck
and a gun at his back
And a license to kill him is given out
to every maniac
He’s the neighborhood bully.
Well, he got no allies to really speak of
What he gets he must pay for,
he don’t get it out of love
He buys obsolete weapons
and he won’t be denied
But no one sends flesh and blood
to fight by his side
He’s the neighborhood bully.
Well, he’s surrounded by pacifists
who all want peace
They pray for it nightly
that the bloodshed must cease
Now, they wouldn’t hurt a fly.
To hurt one they would weep
They lay and they wait
for this bully to fall asleep
He’s the neighborhood bully.
Every empire that’s enslaved him is gone
Egypt and Rome, even the great Babylon
He’s made a garden of paradise
in the desert sand
In bed with nobody,
under no one’s command
He’s the neighborhood bully.
Now his holiest books
have been trampled upon
No contract that he signed
was worth that what it was written on
He took the crumbs of the world
and he turned it into wealth
Took sickness and disease
and he turned it into health
He’s the neighborhood bully.
What’s anybody indebted to him for?
Nothing, they say …
He just likes to cause war
Pride and prejudice
and superstition indeed
They wait for this bully
like a dog waits for feed
He’s the neighborhood bully.
What has he done to wear so many scars?
Does he change the course of rivers? Does he pollute the moon and stars?
Neighborhood bully, standing on the hill
Running out the clock, time standing still
Neighborhood bully.”
~ Bob Dylan
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I am often asked for a word
to describe the hell
of living on the border
of a killing field
frayed denim skulls picked clean
frayed denim fatty flesh gone rotten
androgynous infection and pus
they bring in educated people
trying to finger a possible cause
it wasn’t the white sugar
or the hand grenades
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Maelstromification
Is the word I use
To describe the weather
In Placebo Town
It seems to go with the sound
Of a live cremation
Whilst a cranial vivisection
Is going down
Just another hectic day
of performance art
In romantic Placebo Town
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the angels enjoy commenting
on the nakedness of citizens
standing in Placebo Town
hometown of meaninglessness
irrelevant coitus night and day
intercourse on motorcycles
healthy pink scrotums
manly erections
never platonic
……………………………..memory-haunted romance
……………………………..in a village where gender
……………………………..wasn’t all that important
summer time inhabitants
walked around naked outdoors
young people smoked cigarettes
and indulged in James Bond escapades
older folks drank gin and vodka and talked sex
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standing out in the lawn
your bedroom window visible
and sex is peeking at you wide-open
heart thumping sex with a strong smell
playful business
to be served in a rather savage manner
her rip wanting the curved dong of Tarzan
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breaking the chains of karma
young people think that it has something
to do with student loans being forgiven
I tell them that karma is the credit card
of wrongdoing
the amount one borrows
is so much smaller
than the amount
to be paid back
WRONGDOING
is expensive
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Karma instant
Karma slow
Karma coming down
Not just in Placebo Town
But everywhere you go
It’s the code of the road
The currency on the street
For whatever a man sows
that also he will reap
Do not eat the bread
of a selfish man,
or desire his delicacies;
For as he thinks in his heart,
so is he [in behavior
—one who manipulates].
He says to you, “Eat and drink,”
Yet his heart is not with you
[but it is begrudging the cost].
~ Proverbs 23:6-7 Amplified
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one discovers that one has written,
“her rip wanting the curved dong of Tarzan”
pillows that softly speak through the night
warning that the full wrath of God has yet to fall
(@) each living human assigned a personal vulture
(@) pray that you have the seal of God on your forehead
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Sealed by the Spirit
The Blues Brothers
On an appointed mission
Oblivious to the devious
And mischievous
Power game machinations
Emenating from Placebo Town
Where the Court of Superstition
Is always in session
As the prayer wheels
Of cause and effect
Go round and round
Love can drain an ocean
Of misguided desperation
Breaking the chain
of karma’s command
To flood the living soul
Of a world weary person
With a spirit resurrection
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Placebo Town
old people often sit for hours under the cliffs
patiently waiting for a boulder to fall and end their journey
young females live a pleasant childhood completely detached
and then one day something ignites inside them
they know what they must do and they do it
the viper welcomes them with his bite
scholarly venom, a dose of destiny
babies born with clay feet
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people without childhood memories
wrapping Christmas Lies in June
constantly compromising
every romantic partner
A MARIONETTE
Bill and Melinda Gates
were caught coloring the truth
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Thank heaven for little girls
For little girls get
Bigger every day
Thank heaven for little girls
They grow up in
The most delightful way.
Those little eyes
So helpless and appealing
When they were flashing
Send you crashing
Through the ceiling
Thank heaven for little girls
Thank heaven for them all
No matter where,
No matter who
Without them
What would little boys do
~Alan Jay Lerner/Frederick Loewe
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President Kennedy was handing out medals
red hearts were given to sentimental poets
Robert Frost was there with humiliation
near-suicidal with smooth crotch
he was given the Ken doll dong
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Bob Dylan was given
the Chuck Berry Ding-A-Ling
A medal awarded by the military
for not taking poetry
too seriously
But President Kennedy
insisted on singing
Johnny B. Goode
all through
the presentation ceremony
Now he’s always
ringing Dylan up
trying to show off
to Marilyn Monroe
He had a bit of laugh
when his call was answered
by Fidel Castro
But President Kennedy
really wasn’t happy
the time Jackie answered
screaming, “Make it snappy!”
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landlubbers throwing stones at megaliths
standing proud off shore
neither Stonehenge
nor Easter Island
they were winged angels
spending a spell in confinement
a mistake up above with no direction
but down……down with a constant wash
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20 minutes south of the airport in Louisville
one enters the poverty zone of Kentucky
scruffy children playing by the roadside
tee shirts with a 1000 nose-blows
they wave and motion for you
to stop
sooty flesh with righteous eyes
minimum knowledge put to clever use
take your valuables, place you on the menu
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there you were
trying to park your body
in the grave
as if it was a car
there you were
trying to return
to a passive state
a snooze
before the new identification
skeleton shells litter
the Scripture Room
rational understanding
ignores the stars
and all the secrets of the sky
the oldest longings
haunt the modern man
buried standing up
touching strangers
in a crowded cemetery
cataloged remains
blind to perceive error
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Death has been conquered
The cemetery but temporary
The parking complimentary
With a receipt fully validated
Boy Scouts with their merit badges
Standing meekly on the Rock of Ages
The undeserving unreservedly
And wholeheartedly invited
The bent made straight
Because heaven can’t wait
To get the party started
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the Grim Reaper on late night television
offering free one-way tickets to Placebo Town
almost all visitors want to delete memories
they want the “forgive and forget” package
to replace the bitter past with a sweet future
wounded innermost thoughts
friends ask me to wrap them with bandages
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In the Placebo Town Library
I checked out a do it yourself book
‘How To Become A Higher Life Form
. . . or die trying’, written by a
world renowned Swami. It even
came with a money back guarantee.
When I took it back complaining
that it just didn’t work for me,
the library lady just smiled
and said to come and see her
after I’ve died trying. And since it’s
a library, I’d gotten the book for free.
But if it would make me feel better
she would stamp my library card
with a smiley face, and give me
a quickie under the counter,
as long as we did it quietly.
Not all is an open book
in the Placebo Town Library.
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(It’s a Sunday . . . so)
Oh, happy day
When Jesus washed
Oh, when He washed
When Jesus washed
He washed my sins away
Oh, it’s a happy day
He taught me how
To watch and fight and pray
Watch and pray
And live rejoicing every day
(Not just Sundays)
~ Edwin Hawkins
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when people first arrive at Placebo Town
they’re afraid to touch anything
terrified of hellfire
but HELLFIRE means something different after death
mothers soak their children in hellfire
they make a muddy soup
and feast on it
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things that are difficult to forget:
the Grim Reaper
eating cat food out of the can
the Grim Reaper
farting on an elevator
“Berlitz Guide to Speaking Grim Reaper”
one hand brings the bacon home
one hand fries it
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The greatest day in history
Death is beaten
You have rescued me
Sing it out, Jesus is alive
The empty cross
The empty grave
Life eternal
You have won the day
Jesus is alive
You washed my sin away
I’ll never be the same
Forever I am changed
When I stand in that place
Free at last
Meeting face to face
I am Yours, Jesus
You are mine
Endless joy, perfect peace
Earthly pain finally will cease
Celebrate
Jesus is alive
He’s alive
~ Tim Hughes
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