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 
I ask myself if I have erased the world around me
all those roadways in and out
Baby Bird, they are gone
of all humans on earth
I know the least
I am a balloon
the wind
strong
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life circles us
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“And above all, watch with glittering
eyes the whole world around you
because the greatest secrets are
always hidden in the most unlikely
places. Those who don’t believe in
magic will never find it.”
~ Roald Dahl
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the Spoon Lady
that’s my mom
my aunt, my cousin
my babysitter, my first grade teacher
the lady in the cafeteria spooning out lunch
not the first girl I ever kissed but the first one
I bruised my loins loving, serious cheap carpet burns
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I love to spoon
with the Spoon Lady
from Muskogee
my cute little hillbilly
She always begin to swoon
every time I play her a tune
from sweet home Mississippi
On our honeymoon
I tried my best
not to blast off too soon
but when she took a deep breath
and took out her teeth
I was already halfway to the moon
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bloodless sports
gender became an issue
Miriam and Deborah from Scripture
given a crew cut and a codpiece stuffed
no one could deny that their earthly ties
were so overpowering that they needed man
to interpret God’s will, to dish out divine inspiration
“we’re on the team, boys. we’re Eve, we will generate
a host of Eves and before you know it, men will be sidelined”
(+) inferiors in the hands of darkness
(+) nothing in ourselves, everything in the Lord
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at night in the dark
I see the host of Eves
warning after warning
ears have been removed
no one can hear a damn thing
history will reveal the 5th Beatle
(+) she will have one of those reproduction units
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(+) (+) THE HOST OF EVES (+) (+)
your nut sac will be the first thing to go
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San Francisco
is where I left my heart
on a trip to the outer limits
but Placebo Town
is where I left my nut sack
way back at the city limits
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dependence on God
anyone questioning
why they cannot
sidestep earth
should answer that question late at night
decipher the meaning of things in the dark
with the eyes closed, the feel of demons about
no comfort just doom, the vapors of butt crack
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afraid to go outside
the trees have pubic hair
armpit hair under their branches
mundane outside turned upside down
the groom can be heard drilling his pecker hole
the bride questioning garden shears or scissors
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embedded in the indirection of strangers
people dressed in gray with generic features
detectives often spit out aphorisms, witty and dry
guilty or innocent, chitchat about truck stop chafe
wearisome toil
all those horny guys
who bear God’s image
and claim regal standing
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What goes in must come out
I don’t worry too much about it
My outside likes to be thanked
on the inside
with a spank of her rawhide
An opiate sublime
for someone
who’s had enough of division
that wild ride of multiplication
A fulsome orgasm ☯️
takes me back
to the Garden of Eden
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“Let me be monosyllabic today,
O Lord. Yesterday I loosed a snarl
of words on a fool, on a child.
Today, let me be monosyllabic
… a crony of old men who wash
sunlight in their fingers and enjoy
slow-pacing clocks.”
~ Carl Sandburg
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fruitless struggles
I get paid to translate
left or right, it doesn’t matter
step outside the burning lake, Brother
take a mate and start a life like the living
a parallel with humans up above is a challenge
up above: sickness unto death
down below: sickness unto death
DEATH IN HELL: release from restless thoughts
imperfection in a race car speeding towards perfection
imperfection in a rocket ship roaring towards perfection
(+) imperfection in a loving heart, foul and black
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the swimming seed in sperm
that’s the restless thoughts
I make mention
seed outside
seeking
return
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Being seeded to succeed
but one in a hundred thousand
To obtain the crown of perfection
in this land of desecration
where failure is inbred
perfection is but a delusion
Not one in a hundred billion
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orgasm: a location one can never dwell
stand in a cemetery
proof of orgasm
tired wanderers
but no rest
(+) dressed in fancy clothes and shoes
(+) baits and seeming pleasures, no get up and go
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the guy was talking about his life ending in grade school
education: wayward and misleading powers of error
crookedness starting with the alarm clock
school bus straight through
serpent tangles
the building
had scales
(+) that was then and now is no longer then
the guy was saying that all exits from education were rectal
nothing will remove the stain, the smell
no mistaking backside errors
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“No man ever steps in the same river
twice, for it’s not the same river and
he’s not the same man.”
~ Heraclitus
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By the condominium
salt water swimming pool
I was in need of a hand
reading a deep end book
called ‘A Farewell to Arms’
but there was all this
pandemonium going down
Fire trucks and alarms
Trying hard not to look
despite all the distractions
I asked the drinks waiter
to hold up my book
having reached the final chapter
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don’t know much about stepping in the same river
I do know that I want to distance myself from those
who deny, refuse, oppose, or are skeptical of Jesus Christ
the Hopi call him, Yeshua ben Yussuf
in grade school, the smart kid
asked the instructor
if the Hopi Nation
woke up in Hawaii
would they explode ?
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Don’t know much about Hopi pottery
or the price of being an antichrist
My beloved shaman
Howling Bear Runs With Junkies
was of the Cherokee Nation
He went to Miami
on a long overdue vacation
but sadly he stayed a day too long
at Hieronymus Bosch’s condominium
The one build right next to
the Grand Canyon
When will they ever learn?
One sweet day
my medicine man will return
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the Hopi Nation
what can I say ?
maybe I got in with a bad lot
I was expecting a spiritual experience
what can I say ?
avenues of garbage
sad, sad, sad, sad hearts
extreme money grubbing
(+) children licked my car, said that it tasted like cherry
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My world:
older adults are rarely free of restraints
the law says that they wander off or fall down
often they are given medication that makes them upside-down
they salute one another with the finger
using sturdy thick blackguard words
from another era, another location
oral sex therapy, soft dongs squirt
everyone has their favorite
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lovemaking
a poorly remembered version of the same thing
with almost no friction, rhythm was the best one could hope for
——————–slow tunes made Baby sway——————–
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television suggests that the arts have gone astray
music just vulgar noise
movies without subject matter
lacking a beginning and a proper end
actors have forgotten how to recite lines
white poets write about their sex and drug habits
white poets who have outlived senior citizen recognition
consume pure meth and blow kisses to Jagger in his space socks
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The Full Circle:
In the Nimrod Suite
At the Babylon Hotel
Narcissus is on trial
For being way past
His use by date
Infantile post-modern art
of no discernible talent
Hangs in the hallways
For the amusement
Of the pampered guests
At the Babylon Hotel
As euphanasia is given
A big kick start
Sounding much like
Geriatric rock ‘n’ roll
For the generic soul
Of a meaningless generation
With hillbilly heroin
Available on prescription
Just be sure
To give generously
When paying the ferryman
At the Babylon Hotel
Where all are most welcome
At the Babylon Hotel
After outliving Jethro Tull
Aqualung is now in fashion
And in total control
As his latest manifestation
An avatar in a respirator
The Omega Mutation
He will hold your last breath
As you make your confession
With a final benediction …
“May the circle of your
addiction be unbroken.”
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to hold my last breath
The Omega Mutation
would have to wear gloves
the size of a dump truck
(+) my best friend loved “Aqualung”
the version they play now is different
even “Thick as a Brick” is no longer the same
this is true for Beatle songs also
anything that might alter your brain waves
has been re-conditioned
I never stay at the Babylon Hotel
the Honeymoon Hotel Baths OMG
big fat dongs begging for attention
the brides all busy upstairs
making digital wedding albums
nothing wrong with hillbilly heroin
it wraps you in the softest material
this side of space cotton
and deposits you on heavenly clouds
the price is steep but that’s old news
God Bless hillbilly heroin and meth
(+) no longer an ape, hello homo erectus
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Jack Kerouac
and Allen Ginsberg
could not believe
what the dump truck
they’d just heard
In the shuffling madness
the Gods of Mount Olympus
took to the streets
with gloves the size
of greyhound buses
to catch that last boast
the Multiplication
had just spoken
leaving all the brides
of Frankenstein breathless
at the Hotel Babylon
Robert Frost was left
in the aftermath
to count the cost
of those pills most taken
to a homo sapien
But your wise men
don’t know how it feels
to be limp as a junkie’s prick
“But why must all the operations
in life be performed without an
anesthetic?”
~ Ernest Hemingway
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Robert Frost and Machine Gun Kelly
are kept in an empty
instant mashed potato box
in the garage
sort-of-like
“I Dream of Jeannie”
only lacking the budget
as for the use of a boast
tricky devils
like pancakes
one must know
when to flip them
gloves the size of greyhound buses
Lord only knows
where does one store them ?
limp dicks are a thing of the past
females have survived all these years
without them
why can’t men ?
as for Babylon Brides
I need not dramatize
the presence of dangerous gases
in their bloated woman parts
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I’m the one who blew
that hole in space and time
sending a divine shiver
down the spine
of Mother Nature
Beyond any doubt
I am the Alpha Lover
The Hammer of Slow
King of all that rings
way down below
as I cast a mighty shadow
with an ocean of blow
from my balls like boulders
balanced upon the shoulders
of Amazon warrior priestesses
Captives to my caresses
as I cream their Jean Genie
with my magical phallus
conjuring screams of ecstasy
Furtive armies
of virgin soldiers
have surrendered
to their amorous fate
Laid low by a burst
of my fertile ejaculate
Resistance is useless
as I try hard not to boast
~ Ezra Hard-Pound
(He who even blew the nightie
off Mighty Aphrodite 👗😎
Woody Allen, that flaccid tortoise,
was so impressed he made a movie!)
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can you imagine Machine Gun Kelly
trapped in a box with Robert Frost ?
“but I chafe against traditional views”
Robert was an enemy of modern times
males were not to step out
of their prescribed “manly” roles
(+) Machine Gun Kelly was outside the realm of anesthetics
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in bed next to the wife
as she was having intercourse
with a young muscular student
he doesn’t have the largest penis
in the world but it has a nice curve
and makes the wife mutter “F” words
she doesn’t know that his services cost
he thinks of himself as Mister Alpha Lover
too young to know the penalties of fast living
the foretaste of death
rumored to be
a hangover
from sustaining life
who was I to speak of sustaining life ?
who was I to mention the foretaste of death ?
(+) I was paying him to sex my wife
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I once had a wife
who felt that
having sex is a crime
Now I have a wife
who wants it
all of the time
Making it legal
has taken away
much of the appeal
But I do my best
and try not to whine
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life circles us
at night around the fire
the native Americans
shoot arrows in our backs
during the day the rocks and sand
suck the moisture from us
we’ve eaten the horses
and travel by foot
life circles us
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My beloved shaman …
Howling Bear Who Runs With Junkies
the Cherokee medicine man,
initiated me into the Cherokee nation
(a rather painful ordeal that I never
bring up in polite conversation).
I was then obliged to marry his rather
homely daughter, Purring Beaver.
So, I now have the reassurance
I’ve escaped the fate of the paleface.
To toil and die in a land
bereft their ancestor’s embrace.
Now I sleep like the hibernating bear,
even when the spirits are restless.
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I was going to say
that some of the guys
are pissing red
on second thought
we’re all passing blood
it is impossible to rest at night
with all the arrows we carry
“why Lord, why ? we were only passing through”
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“When man forced to eat his
horse, he must make his way
on foot to the Happy Hunting
Casino and Golf Course.”
~ Ho Be da Junkie
(Howling Bear’s stage name)
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learning to live through our eyes
and the fog of reality
laughing at the large bones
we encounter
what if Noah saw them pass by ?
knowing that we have troubled
the wild creatures and the people
perhaps we are the nightmare future
just to look at us
without knowing our names
it would be difficult
to know our minds
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I am he who walks without legs
and my companions
hold hands and kiss
we know not gender
for where
we call home
men do not come from the vagina
men do not return to the vagina
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THIS IS A TERRIBLE THING TO PUT IN PRINT:
beings that come from a more perfect world
view beings delivered from the human vagina
no better than turds
the birth concept is heartless
cover your ears
close your eyes
speak not
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“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. 9 Whatever you have learned
or received or heard from me, or
seen in me—put it into practice. And
the God of peace will be with you.”
~ Paul the Apostle
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life circles us
at night we are attacked
those that have not
hope to take from us
that which is ours
the knives penetrate
our softness
life circles us
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A MASTERCLASS IN RACIAL PROFILING;
We hate the Saxon and the Dane,
We hate the Norman men-
We cursed their greed for blood and gain,
We curse them now again.
Yet start not, Irish-born man!
If you’re to Ireland true,
We heed not blood, nor creed, nor clan
We have no curse for you.
We have no curse for you or yours,
But Friendship’s ready grasp,
And Faith to stand by you and yours
Unto our latest gasp-
To stand by you against all foes,
Howe’er, or whence they come,
With traitor arts, or bribes, or blows,
From England, France, or Rome.
What matter that at different shrines
We pray unto one God?
What matter that at different times
Your fathers won this sod?
In fortune and in name we’re bound
By stronger links than steel;
And neither can be safe nor sound
But in the other’s weal.
As Nubian rocks, and Ethiop sand
Long drifting down the Nile,
Built up old Egypt’s fertile land
For many a hundred mile,
So Pagan clans to Ireland came,
And clans of Christendom,
Yet joined their wisdom and their fame
To build a nation from.
Here came the brown Phoenician,
The man of trade and toil-
Here came the proud Milesian,
A hungering for spoil;
And the Firbolg and the Cymry,
And the hard, enduring Dane,
And the iron Lords of Normandy,
With the Saxons in their train.
And oh! it were a gallant deed
To show before mankind,
How every race and every creed
Might be by love combined-
Might be combined, yet not forget
The fountains whence they rose,
As, filled by many a rivulet,
The stately Shannon flows.
Nor would we wreak our ancient feud
On Belgian or on Dane,
Nor visit in a hostile mood
The hearths of Gaul or Spain;
But long as on our country lies
The Anglo-Norman yoke,
Their tyranny we’ll stigmatize,
And God’s revenge invoke.
We do not hate, we never cursed,
Nor spoke a foeman’s word
Against a man in Ireland nursed,
Howe’er we thought he erred;
So start not, Irish-born man,
If you’re to Ireland true,
We heed not race, nor creed, nor clan,
We’ve hearts and hands for you.
~Thomas Davis
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life circles us
they call one another brother
and it sounds good off the tongue
but they blind and cripple the weak
and direct them straight to the stew pot
the strong survive to labor and reproduce
God help you if you have a vagina
God help you if you do not
life circles us
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life circles us
from up above
and down below
Dolly Parton naked
begging the menfolk
to have a look to have a feel
her inability to understand
did not hamper her gender
her privates contributing
to those obedient
unto death
life circles
us
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life circles us
sorry if I insulted Hollywood native Americans
the native Americans we are dealing with are buzzards
the stomach turners that sit on the tops of tall trees
mothers that eat babies of all shapes and colors
the real native Americans
not Ken and Barbie
in museum drag
life circles us
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WHEN THE EARTH IS RAVAGED
AND THE ANIMALS ARE DYING,
A NEW TRIBE OF PEOPLE SHALL
COME UNTO THE EARTH FROM
MANY COLORS, CREEDS, AND
CLASSES, AND WHO BY THEIR
ACTIONS AND DEEDS SHALL
MAKE THE EARTH GREEN AGAIN.
THEY SHALL BE KNOWN AS THE
WARRIORS OF THE RAINBOW.
~ HOPI PROPHECY
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I still chuckle
thinking about Robert Whitaker
peeking through the mail slot
trying to figure out
if the night porter was present
for reasons unknown
Robert feared the night porter
“you are aware that he has wings”
yes, I knew he was the front door knock of death
one cannot live day to day in fear of shutdown
I call him often to bring over the good stuff
chemicals are one thing
sharing them with death
that’s hell and back
(+) truck stop tar of the day: poodle poop
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Robert Whitaker quote:
“you find yourself being held involuntarily
for assessment and after a heavy dose of medication
they hand you a loaded gun and say fire at will”
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OLD PLACEBO TOWN
For what it’s worth
I was told to alway
reach for the crown
but I was blindfolded at birth
Now I’ve got to leave
old Placebo Town
before the firing squad
does it’s worst
And the leavings
gonna get me down
like the sound of a bullet burst
to the back of the brain
Back in nineteen sixty-four
I remember Daddy
walking out the door
Mama told me
he was going to war
but he was leaving
to be with his two bit whore
The one he found
in old Placebo Town
sliding in jizz
on a seedy dance floor
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what we value
can never be ours
(the human part would destroy it)
we can only possess what we love
if it is reflected or recreated
———————————-
Eve standing covered in serpent seed
Adam too stupid to run away
too stupid to run to God
too stupid to say
“I’m innocent”
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circles of black shapes overhead
the words “ceaseless torture”
nailed fast to a memory
what once I was
(+) what once I was
Michael split within himself
a divided self
paving the path with words
expectations from others
can I deliver above and beyond ?
can I protect my inner core ?
private self with the clay mask
terrified to cry himself public
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terrified to cry myself public
and yet there hang my undies to dry
not a fallen hero just a tormented fellow
self-pitying in quicksand unable to act
should I pray to he above my reach
to wash my inner light clean
refresh my sight
return my voice
to rejoice
with him
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Behind my
Ray-Ban sunglasses
I fell fast asleep
at the premiere performance
of Disney On Ice
Sweet dreams
came thick and fast
riding a fulcrum
at the centre point
of this luminous existence
A rubik’s cube in my head
kept on spinning around
to a monastic chanting sound
From a mountain top spiralling
a view to astound
with golden clouds swirling
so high above the forgotten ground
Everything that ever was
and will ever be
fitting together in perfect harmony
I was then rudely awoken
by the clanging of reality
Surreptitiously
the hand of gravity
had kept a hold on me
Sweet dreams aren’t always
what they’re cracked up to be
But everything exposed by the light
becomes visible—and everything
that is illuminated becomes a light.
This is why it is said:
“Wake up, sleeper,
rise from the dead,
and Christ will shine on you.”
~Paul of Tarsus
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basically, Paul was no fun
Peter and James circling overhead
ding dongs and nut sacs in the breeze
Paul was nonfunctional gay
no up and down, no in and out
his brother said, “he’s not all that”
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“I must not quarrel with myself”
looking up at the clouds
they are marching across the sky
animal shapes towards the Ark
those crazy guys at headquarters
they know what brings a smile
if only Salvador Dali could hold my hand
we would wrestle the contradictions
between duty and comfort
Salvador wrote the book
on the private self
and the public self
the torments of the divided self
“I must not quarrel with myself”
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Something was stirring
in the basement of the
Honeymoon Hotel
We all heard the sound
of wings unfurling
and a frightful howl
as from the bowels of hell
From the relative safety
of the Placebo Town Library
Jack Kerouac said
we had better go take a look
Allen Ginsberg
with his head stuck
in a Sylvia Plath poetry book
was in total disagreement
Curiosity got
the better of me
as I crept down into
the Honeymoon Hotel basement
with a fearless librarian
who looked a bit
like Natalie Portman
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on a serious note:
Salvador Dali stands in boiling mud
mocking himself
THE WALLS OF THE OLD TESTAMENT STAND STRONG
you stand inside
you stand outside
sorry
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The Law of Love
rules from high above
yet down in the mud
Salvador was kind enough
to crown me the Mighty Muk
after being gored by a minotaur
in the employ
of the Hallucinogenic Toreador
and just my luck
he then made me a witness
to the madness
riding shotgun
in a Chevy pick up truck
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in the shadows
love is knotted and contorted
a hornet’s sting or worse
a debt
that becomes a fatal ravel
love is billed round
but often surprisingly flat
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In Placebo Town
the only poetry is graffiti
It glows in a darkened alley
and tastes of a lost reality
where the worst of the physical
meets a thirst for the spiritual
All the good citizens
eventually pass that alleyway
some reluctantly
some gladly
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the alley with the graffiti
where every groom and bride
exchange their first “I love you”
(+) often the start of a long and tortuous history
the Honeymoon Hotel
where the bride leaks corrosions
as the groom daydreams of more powerful stimuli
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https://agorababou.com/2021/07/18/the-writing-on-the-wall-iron-maiden/
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seems like Prince is following me these days
I was purchasing some No-Doze
and in the background I heard “Purple Rain”
they say that he could tame the waters
from my experience
tame one evil
but not another
somewhere
sometime
you run into a well-dressed Death
he has you for lunch
you are no more than a fancy pickle
sadly, Death remains an undeniable part
of our predicament
creative annihilation
REDUCTION
Death may seem civilized
but cornered and forced to protect itself
Death is terrifying and real
possibly the only real event
of our numbered days
I pity those not knowing
about Judgment
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This is how Deep Purple sounds
after a pack of No-Doze …
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No-Doze and bath salts
and the neighbor’s son eats a living face
things happen
mysteries and silences
just like Sgt. Pepper
there is a regular rhythm to thoughts and feelings
(+) poets fear re-echoing themselves
blow out those birthday candles
pray for expansion
not completion
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No-Doze and overdoses
the fluffy stuff
of a deep kaleidoscopic state
the mushroom conspiracy is within
the Beatles tried to warn us
but Sgt. Pepper came too late
reason doesn’t just know things
where nothing is happening
the noise is deafening
expansions
subtracting and revolving
deep dreams
in living circles surrounds us
high underground
in the purple rain
a mushroom is growing
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absence
of activity
self-enclosed
(+) post-coital
dirty, dirty stuff
between flaps of flesh
significant sex with friends
celebrating death before it arrives
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Seen through the toxic haze
of a pseudo maze
all fleshly things seem unclean
and oddly perverse
That’s the Placebo Town curse
Only a blessing true
will undo that view
and slam it into reverse
All that is seen
is not what it seems
deep dreams
in living circles surround us
Rio de Janeiro
and that statue of Jesus
sleeper awake
but for heaven’s sake
don’t take those No-Doze
you don’t need a weather man
to know which way the wind blows
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it would seem
that cream floats
so get on top
of life’s sinking boat
death in an elevator
just too extreme
the price of fame
a Prince high and dry
killing the pain
as doves cry
in the purple rain
a raspberry beret
covered in cream
all down the drain
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(+) THE PLACEBO TOWN CURSE (+)
senior citizens having sex
yes, I’ve seen porn tapes
“Front Door Back Door : Does It Matter”
“Debbie Drops Diaper”
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What goes around
comes around
in Placebo Town
where all things
are out of balance
from the pseudo romance
at the Honeymoon Hotel
where Debbie does Dallas
to the Convent of Domination
where the next generation
gets ready for
the coming slaughter
Meanwhile Natalie Portman
shaves her V for vagina
Vengeance is neat
and sweet when you’re
the Night Manager’s daughter
One by one
the paying guests all checkout
at the request
of a big beast vendetta
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E.A. Poe at the grave
“what does it take to raise this loveliness ?”
more than the pull of the moon
the face of the sun
more than hillbillies
playing the spoons
a loaded gun
or a naked grandmother
take out her teeth
and ask, “wanna have some fun ?”
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the unstable marriage
next door
buried standing up
lifeless in her bag of bones
he with a boyish charm
and a rock-hard horn
the circle
masters him
calling him to return
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“What should such fellows as I do
crawling between earth and heaven?”
“I am as vigilant as a cat to steal cream.”
~ William Shakespeare
Oh, what a tangled web we weave
when first we begin to breathe.
Shakespeare was under no illusion.
“My father compounded with my
mother under the Dragon’s tail, and
my nativity was under Ursa Major,
so that it follows, I am roughand
lecherous. Tut, I should have been
that I am, had the maidenliest star
in the firmament twinkled on my
bastardizing.”
“But we have reason to cool our
raging motions, our carnal stings,
our unbitted lusts; whereof I take
this that you call love. to bea sect
or scion. It is merely a lust of the
blood and a permission of the will.”
“A rarer spirit never did steer humanity; but you gods will give us
some faults to make us men.”
~ William Shakespeare
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I was betrayed
by my nearest and dearest
like Judas Iscariot
handed over to a rapist
with a license
that dominatrix physiotherapist
She always meets me at the door
saying …
“More is less,
and less is more.
If the pain gets too much
don’t bother complaining.
I know that’s really
what you come here for.”
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William Shakespeare in Placebo Town
he got off the train to take a pee on solid ground
and never left
he once warned me that every act of writing
would tempt fate
“beware saying more than need be said”
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no dwelling could contain William
he took shelter in the sewer
under the library
the opening I can no longer find
yes, I have changed
in youth I was round
an entrepreneur
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The Bard shed a bitter tear
when barred from Australia
after the failure
of his singing career . . .
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William was consistent with the intricacies
of day to day
vaguely biblical in his underpants
there was a shimmering to his genitals
he said, “we may encounter limits
but I am not tied down”
he was marvelous
taking every act to the limit
climbing heavenward
to ring the bell
and
slowly returning
in his arms
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to this day, Shakespeare lives under the library
sometimes discovered, eventually lost
I stopped sending valentines
aware that delivery
was doubtful
if not dumb
(+) his pet name for his penis, the Mystery Tree
(+) a favorite poem was about an angel
dipping William’s penis in liquid gold
“the shine will make up for what it lacks in length”
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A Shakespearean Coincidence!
My main man in Placebo Town
was a street sorcerer who went
by the name of Prospero. He kept
an office in the basement of the
library, where Johnny mixed up
the medicine. Hence his gear was
alway the best. Prospero proudly
called it a spoon full of tempest.
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