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 
when things were difficult
to wade through
I’d whip out my Mystery Tree
and it would obey
Home, Home
and it would point
a path of ease
(+) the torment of lust you say
three stokes to spiritual orgasm
Royal Jelly, night and day
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“upsetting me sperms
each with a mask
of regret”
any thought of oneself
an “unbroken spiral” peeled on the outside
but what about the inside, past the mental sentences
me Momma said, me Poppa said, the wicked man at church
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“Stop it at once
or you’ll go blind
Sperms are only
short terms
that squirm
as you yearn
and the results
are so unkind
Who on
God’s green earth
wants more children?
So pull up
those short pants
put on your mask
or the alien scrotum
will put you to task.”
~ Rabbi Clitsteam
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Prince gives up music
becomes a lobster fisherman
drowns on the first day out
a poor choice of clothes
a poor choice of shoes
even in death
his brain
was still teeming
alert to everything
his body was cold
but his soul was red hot
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I’m not so sure about that hairdo
he had on top when his elevator
got stuck.
Not that It really matters, but that
hairstyle wasn’t exactly the cream
of the crop.
In Placebo Town they’d like it a lot.
A Curly Mo Shirley Temple Afro for
a muso who’s down on his luck, but
could still play guitar like a bell
being struck by opiate lightning 🎸⚡
What’s not to like? (with the possible exception of that hairdo)
“More fentanyl, monsieur? No?”
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linguists and sex
verbatim recall for foreplay
every malignant thought requires surgery
a cook is only a cook in his own kitchen
holy smithereens, it tastes like crap
the squeeze of religious law
pinching my scrotum
upsetting me sperms
each with a mask
of regret
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Scotumitosis
is my diagnosis
Words like dessert
that at dinner parties
like to be outrageous
and continuously flirt
Poetry from the alleyway
that hurts when it spurts
All symptoms synonymous
with a life in short pants
Such as the metal sting
of Sid Vicious
mistaken for punk romance
John Wayne felt the pain
all alone
riding his horse
out in the wilderness
Ronald Reagan even
He couldn’t help himself
from doing it
again and again
… with Nancy watching
Much to do about nothing
was her White House
price of fame
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JUST THINKING ABOUT JOHN WAYNE
every morning when he started his day
he had to slip into being “John Wayne”
maybe it was fun, bet not
people who ride horses
crotch funk
——————every time you take a pee
people try to spy your dong
anything less than a foot
OMG
he was blessed that he wasn’t a singing cowboy
inarticulateness, I know not
did he kiss like Michelangelo ?
cold marble lips ?
top or bottom ?
people mention his walk
but never how it felt to hold his hand
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life in short pants
that crazy guy in AC/DC
with the shaky leg and guitar
my-o-my, hate to stand near him
Nancy Reagan with her hand up Ronald
“GIVE IT UP OR DIE” till the feces flew
life with its stimuli and corrosions
family picnics at the Wayne Marina
trying to bum cigarettes off cowboy John
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Fidel Castro
and Che Guevara
come to Placebo Town
with an axe to grind
It seems they had
a vendetta
and a score to settle
with John Wayne
Ronald Reagan
and some or other
American
smoking cowboy
over the death
of their good friend
Liberty Valance
a lifelong true amigo
Lee Marvin
the town sheriff
told them to forgive
and then
forget all about it
but you know those
fiery Cubans
. . . not a chance
riding into town like a
climatic
Caribbean disturbance
And since the Duke
can’t abide them
low down comunistas
all hell soon broke loose
in that wild wild west
known as Placebo Town
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the natural home of devils is the wilderness
pull back the skin and watch them scatter
the tree of life trimmed after birth
the naked head nods and smiles
obedience to the law
right can be wrong
wrong is wrong
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That once pristine wilderness
where old burnt out hippies lament
is now a poetry workshop
next to an interstate truck stop
full of cowboys and rednecks
If you’re heading up
to Brokeback Mountain
best bring your own tent
If not a traditional custodian
or a native of Placebo Town
be prepared to pay the rent
when Howling Bear
the Medicine Man comes around
or he’ll tear you a new one
where the sun don’t shine
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Baby Bird are you going to sketch the mercy seat ?
religious people always say the same thing:
TOO GREAT TO BE SPOKEN OF DIRECTLY
no problem discussing the foreskin of Jesus
that Moses had a rectum on the side of his face
but “mercy seat”
Good Lord !!!
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I’m not afraid to die.
Perhaps that’s why
I was able to fly.
Excuse me, Jimi,
while I kiss the sky.
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the blue sky is only blue because your brain is alive
after death the blue sky is just another apology
the laws about this apology and that apology
are imposed by force
(+) many a good man and woman find themselves in
Placebo Town
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she was the right woman but she had pagan flowers in her hair
no one can blame you or think bad of you
death wheedles
you know
standing on the banks
watching good people suffocate
the river feeds death
feminists were flagging women
to the shores of Placebo Town
“tenderness in our arms”
a caress or two and down to business
female spooning safe from the littleness of menfolk
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it was true that when the light came on
you were wearing the skin of another fellow
no one thinks less of you
I stand in the corner
with the other appendages
(+) we, the seed not germinated
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having come from a dirt-loving family
a rural area where the dying reproduced
yes, the men were stallions with their uncut dongs
the women trained to be ferocious at wrestling romance
willful exploitations
obscene love-modes
the drums beating in the bushes
protuberant buttocks around the flames
an obscene religious mystery mocking Christians
(+) I dare speak of “destructive creation”
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Pablo spoke those words
with the flourish of a brush stroke
and a splash of primordial insight
He dared to strike
with a pocket full
of the apocryphal
at the heart of existence
in that ageless struggle
to transcend
and bend the spiritual
as his instrument became
his means to an end
Who will now implement
with creative intent
the destruction of the innocent?
In cyberspace
knowledge abounds
with triumphant arrogance
in hollow piecemeal installments
Truth
has gone missing
Innocence is absent
and wisdom
is no longer listening
as the virus of ignorance
is rapidly mutating
Salvador saw
the rise of Placebo Town
Picasso bought an apartment
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if only we could hold hands
we, the seed not germinated
—————-
—————-
it is written in the family bible
this moment known as “the grand fertilizing climax”
—————-
—————-
squeezed from the loins of reduction
perverse vitality with a touch of beauty
—————-
—————-
we,
sterile and idle
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a mercy mission
to the sweet spot of existence
TRANSMISSION PERFECTION
a cosmic experiment
rising above the squalor
and that all pervading aroma
of death and excrement
to the fabled realm of Valhalla
where xenomorphs of white marble
stand straight and tall
in the hall of slain warriors
there the proud need no saviour
MEANWHILE
cowards and sinners
must petition the King of Creation
with a heartfelt confession
to receive destiny’s true favour
from the mercy seat
in the form
of a born again transformation
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The grand happenstance
of an egg and sperm race
coming together over
a cauldron of providence
In life’s recording studio
there’s always a producer
and forever the artist
The devil is in the detail
God is in the performance
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poetry workshop tonight:
vaginal as opposed to clitoral
stick shift with its clutch
Dad told us boys
that Mother’s sister
was better in bed
unsaid or half-said thoughts
later in life I fingered her
knowing that my father
had been there
I pondered their dialogue
was it just physical communication
each finding pleasure in hurting my mother
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I took down your Christmas stocking
erased your name off the Birthday calendar
you’ve passed through the gates of self-denial
welcome to the struggle against sin
populated with empty folk
deprivation of self
and so much more
Lord-have-mercy
you got a chance
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Only 127 shopping days
till Christmas
and I just can’t buy a thrill
Thank you very much Morpheus
I should never have taken
that little red pill
Now the Matrix is out to get me
and the Night Manager
has handed over my hotel bill
to a head hunting debt collector
So … I’m heading back
to sweet home Valhalla
If Thor don’t let me in
I know my friend Loki will
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knowing the skeleton was visible
the youngest son
started to ventriloquize
his father
using words
that seemed heavy
corpse-like
as if one would find it difficult
to drag them a long distance
a conversation with such words
becomes a funeral
the Devil is sensitive
to any conscious movement
in that direction
the youngest son
ventriloquized his father to the point
that there was no more of himself
(+) when the detectives knocked on the door
the door with misogynistic leanings
the simple pencil sketch
Mom naked
covering her breasts
with folded arms
her hairy V
totally visible
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What a story! Earnestly, Michael,
Ernest Hemingway would’ve been
impressed. Especially with that
mother’s part totally visible🔻
But then, Ernest himself was a bit
of a closet androgynist, who often
behaved like a drunken misogynist.
For that old man and his semen
suicide was just a farewell to arms
. . . by other means.
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riding Nick Cave
as if he were a small pony
the size of the saddle is hell on the balls
he’s singing “push the sky away”
but his heart isn’t into it
showing no creaturely tenderness
I twist his ears for all the rock and roll
could have been praising Jesus
kissing the feet of disciples
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Nick Cave’s daddy has something
to say about that . . .
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dexterity with every sin
a constant display of expertise
have that bra off your poem in 3 seconds
you are dealing with treacherous theatre
verbal debris stuffed in there for volume
the foundation of the poem
limited submission
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“If people bring so much courage
to this world the world must kill
them to break them, so of course
it kills them. The world breaks
everyone and afterward many are
strong at the broken places. But
those that will not break it kills.
It kills the particularly good and
the very gentle and the very brave
impartially. If you are none of these,
you can be sure it will kill you too
but there will be no special hurry.”
~ Ernest Hemingway
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your youngest son comes home from school
he says, “the teacher said that I was a sapling
from a snag”
before you can say anything
he goes to his room
to watch a movie star
take the bra off a famous poem
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Poets in short pants
self publishing with vacuity
their shallow imaginings
of self punishing romance
Poetry dredged
from the endless emptiness
of a cerulean sea
where sailors drown
in a deluge or verbiage
“Good God, please save me!”
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dexterity with every sin
what does it take
what does it take
to trigger a vaginal orgasm
(+) a pelvis from the carnival
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A multiple question
requiring manifold wisdom.
A Mount Everest of a quest,
satiating Mother Nature’s gift
to the starving hungry penis.
You’ve come to the right place,
as all my Christmases
have come at once.
Being sentient,
the vagina’s button knows best
when the finger on the trigger is
wholly, solely, & spirituality into it.
It’s a tantric (weave together) test.
Only the lonely fake it.
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you called it a button
but it was more like an angry hotdog
trying to escape an ugly knot of flesh
OMG, I had my mouth down there
(+) Hemingway just released a new novel written at the Honeymoon Hotel:
“Up-ended Women and Unpleasant Acts of Love”
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I went down to the drug store
for a milkshake and to meet up
with the Placebo Town nighthawks
Ernest was there of course
with his androgynous piece of fluff
The two of them drunk with adultery
I ordered a hot dog from the waitress
She was just like Shirley Temple
. . . all short and curly
always promising a sample
of her apple pie all the way
from the Big Rock Candy Mountain
A slice of trailer trash
with that certain taste
of human pastry
that kinda lingers
in the trailer park of my memory
Mickey Rooney was leaning
against the soda foundation
talking all brash to Judy Garland
saying to call him “Randy Hardy”
But deep down
Judy knew the hard truth
that Mickey had no interest
in Betsy’s booth
A hotdog all relished with mustard
left angry . . . and hungry
The nighthawks of this town
are always good for a laugh
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the next time
she,she,she,she,she,
she,she,she,she,she,
she,she,she,she,she
is difficult to deal with
may be her button has tonsillitis
——————
——————
globs of spunky shrewdness on her pillow
BEWARE
her shadow prowling around
possibly looking for prey
a male to fill her belly
with seed
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I’ve crawled in the box with Johnny Cash
plenty of room, he’s grown soft
I left you a $5 note
think of me
the next
toke
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“So I can rhyme
I snort the line
through a ring
of red hot fire.
Thank you brother
for sparing a dime.
That man in black
the Night Manager
is no fool
demanding payment
in full and on time.”
~ A Cash Poor Vague Rant
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Bob Dylan with a Rolling Stone on each side
singing “blowing in the wind”
his liver is angry
and poor Bob is sweating
serious sweat
he’s having a hard time
Keith Richards is crazy with his guitar
Bob gives Ronnie the evil eye
they chuckle
stupid shit Keith
he’s not leaking a drop
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every day of my life on the school bus
I waved at a horse that stood in a corner
near the road, it was without company
sometimes I could get others to wave also
I often told myself
that I would stop
and feed it a carrot
sadly, I never did
I was always in a hurry
drugs or women
or drugs and women
out of control
bombed
later in life
it died and shriveled up
(+) I still feel the loneliness of the corner
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An unscheduled appearance
of the ever mysterious
“Sweet Michael”!
I’d heard the rumours
evaluated all the evidence
yet I must confess
I was highly sceptical
of his actual existence 😎
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FROM THE PLACEBO FILES:
My school bus trance
was crashed
by some alien substance
from the Twilight Zone
that seemed to enhance my DNA
with a highly advanced
extraterrestrial chromosome
I subsequently lost my grasp
on abstract reality
and the power of speech
. . . temporarily
whilst I roamed the Universe
. . . telepathically
The Interstellar Space Virus
has totally given up on me
as I now have immunity
with cosmic impunity
Let’s just say …
the Engineer
thinks it’s all a bit queer
and the Night Manager
. . . he isn’t happy
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I often tell the night porter
that it was the strenuous burden of life-responsibility
that kept Tarzan in the jungle
not his fear of lesbians
his fear of sexual cannibalism
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The Taliban came here
looking for Tarzan
The Caliph has accused him
of embezzling the proceeds
of fundamentalism
I told them if that were true
then Jane is a lesbian
and Jungle Jim smokes opium
After taking all that I had
including the women
they thanked me for the information
and headed down to Placebo Town
for a Jihad convention
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The Old Testament God watches over Placebo Town
He may be a tad bit on the wild and weird side
but nothing Taliban or Jihad passes the gate
He hates all that horseshit baloney
“it keeps the idiots busy”
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Mecca-La-La-Land
is a testament
to the grand collective lunacy
Let it be that we
all get stoned for adultery
Or how about a bit of heresy
if apostasy ain’t your cup of tea?
“Anything the Hebrews do,
or the Vatican can,
we can do better
and a whole lot stricter!
I am the patriarchal without rival
doing the work of a hairy old goat
since religiosity
has got me by the throat.
So, have some courtesy,
and some sympathy, for the devil.
Let it bleed indeed!
In bloodshed we revel.”
In Afghanistan
I hear the drumming
I am Charlie Hebdo
with words unspoken
Sadly, I am not Charlie Watts
May the rolling circle
be not stoned … and unbroken
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“the fullest appreciation of the value of systematic exploration and the testing of isolated hypotheses”
++POETRY WORKSHOP++
“frequent-flyer” status at the truck stop showers
several complaints of paraplegics and porpoises roughhousing
if you’re keeping score: rats with dignity and apes with shame
rather than less
poets want more of the common taboo behavior
experimental novelty welcome
lawfully determined or otherwise
the flow of saliva is a personal thing
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your family and friends grazing in a field
at some point they will become food products
no physical part will be wasted
their gaze seems interior
mental windows
are you casting darkness ?
their gaze seems interior
mental windows
are you a late arrival ?
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your family and friends grazing in a field
at some point their bones will be picked clean
you in your fancy vest
your fancy pants
living a life
free of
excrement
are you casting darkness ?
ambiguity
what does it take?
you’ve been shown your bones
your blood, a corruption of red
eyes closed
rigid filters
elevated forms of animal life
busy shuttling back and forth
factory meat employment
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they are there
the little milk cow boys
separated from the brothel
minutes tick by
no longer
alive
(+) I’ve asked Natalie Merchant to sing a little ditty
about the milk cow boys
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irrational activities over rational ones
layers of concealment
so you can’t see in
can’t see what the farmer does
what the farmer’s sons do
the nasty work
of skin over skin
things that make God angry
layers of concealment
so you can’t see in
what the farmer does with no wife
what the farmer’s sons do late into the night
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only one rule at the farm:
NO LESBIANS
lesbians were everywhere
female homosexuality was the common cold
one sneeze and there was oral eroticism
masochistic passivity at the blink of an eye
crocheted lesbian camouflage
darting tongues
counterfeit dongs
high school dances with your mom
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My Great Auntie Dot
was a lesbian
A great auntie
and a great lesbian at that
In a man’s world
she was a quiet achiever
who was ahead of her time
Whenever she came for dinner
she would tell me stories
and drink all the wine
It was always my job
to keep her from falling down
Actually her name was Dorothy
but she preferred to butch it up
by saying … “Just call me Dot.”
Since then I’ve never met
a lesbian I didn’t like
Sweet Auntie Dot
she taught me a lot
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an autonomous individual
suddenly caught in the bear trap of femininity
feminist sponges sucking up his God granted seed
who would take the king and throw him to the floor ?
disturbing levels of meaning/right out straight for all to hear
you’re trying to cope with hiding behind curtains
detectives knocking on the door
neighbors tired of questions
no one is sure of anything
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murder
an everyday incident
why are they tacking on the intensity ?
horribleness masked behind a mundane face
the children locked in their rooms
the wife washing the dishes
for the third time
white Anglo-Saxon man brings the past to the present
puts a period to the end of the sentence and tries to move on
(+) others around him abandon their rape
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you go hunting
and 30 seconds before you pull the trigger
you realize the animal you are aiming at
is really a classmate from your past
impossible as it seems
a fatal mistake
well-intentioned murder
reprehensible and damning
sleeping on concrete
your future perverted
moral responsibility
internal conflicts
your children run away
your wife lives at the hobo camp
no one understands
wish-fulfillment
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a genetic predisposition
with no explanation
just a never ending
exploratory vivisection
of the illogical biological
as time itself stands watching
and waiting for the nature
of humanity to transcend
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I must confess
I shot that Calamity Jane
The town Deputy then put me
under house arrest
but the Sheriff was most impressed
and soon had me released
saying …
“That Calamity had it coming,
so I guess it’s all for the best.”
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I fold the word
fold the word
I fold the word
spoken deep in the woods
the burial babies there don’t cry
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you and I know
cancer reads these words
hobby or occupation ?
(+) cancer knocks on doors looking for donations
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“The Multi-Mortality Syndrome
Foundation is my chosen charity
of eventual fatality.
Fortunately for me the inhabitants
of Placebo Town give generously.”
~ Doctor Scaramouche Fauci
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we don’t have bombs
but crazy people
all over town
wired to explode
Catholics and Baptists
sidetracked in youth
never fully
developed
————
————
with the lights dim
taste or pain
lips or hips
MOMMY
picks
lips
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Crazy people with bombs
a time honoured tradition
in Placebo Town . . .
“Where’s the fun without da mental?”
The message is loud and clear
with the blood streaming out your ear
The Petrochemical King
of Placebo Town wears a green turban
under his plastic crown
The end is only now just beginning
Two score years and no more
for the destroyer to do his worst
then the Prince of Peace
Jesus Christ will be returning
with a shout and a heavenly burst
Pray for his endless mercy and grace
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no one knows why
they name all burial babies, Michael
at the cemetery all those Michaels buried
should I take pride ?
am I the Robert Frost of Placebo Town ?
outlived the oldest citizen
burned all those other books
just an endless supply of my own
every day Reader’s Digest is on the phone
begging me to cave in, to sign away my life’s work
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whatever God is up to
he is busy burying babies
Michael after Michael
broken dolls
markers
(+) markers between youthful value and mature depravity
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God with his taste for mayhem
the Rabbi says,
“Old Testament Cain, New Testament Michael”
babies at the beck and call of death
glib reassurances
crib to grave
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The poor street waif inflicted
with syphilis by a rich paedophile
to satisfy his fetish for young flesh.
Her body used and disposed
like yesterday’s trash.
In death there is justice
In the afterlife, with mercy and grace,
many will get that second chance.
The resurrection is just a beginning
. . . Life everlasting.
Even for those who never got to hear
of Jesus Christ.
God sees the heart, and hold all things
in balance.
There will, one sweet day, be justice.
“We wait for light, but behold darkness.”
~ Isaiah
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the burial babies solid in comfort
safe from apostate forces
no Michaels
in the victimization scenario
all correction elsewhere
all correction at another time
(+) the trees are on fire and earth visits Mars
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the great apes
and the mysteries
that they serve
obscene craftsmen
driven to fly toys
on Mars
(+) bright colored protuberant buttocks
Placebo Town littered with sexual shame
YOU SHALL NOT REPRODUCE
the creative dance of sex feeds Death
PEE AND POOP AND DARE GO NO FURTHER
no fertilizing, no destructive creation
wrestle not, lie side by side with the Lord
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Spiritual muscle
Hope beyond the ropes
It’s all in the wrestle
Whiplashed on the canvas
Or revelling in the tussle
A whisper in the tempest
“Stop trying to make sense
out of randomised chaos!”
The hostile tenderness
A fatality of style and grace
All caught in the headlock
Of an unsolvable puzzle
With higher ground
Nowhere to be found
And where love is just a hustle
A time to fight
Or a time for submission
Whenever he’s down
In Placebo Town
On a mission of salvation
By means of attrition
The Angel of the Lord
Just loves a good wrestle
Like a double edged sword
Over an ocean of deep trouble
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burial babies wave at those who journey past Placebo Town
countless tiny arms above the soil
each the same, each different
little Michaels
guilty of willful sin
the exploitation of Eden
dark stars that corrupt the light
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All of Calamity Jane’s
unborn children
waved in unison
as I put her in the ground
I was left with little choice
Ever since that shoot out
in Placebo Town
she had become
comfortably dumb
always demanding sex
with increasing violence
I could handle the whip
and even her silver stirrups
would spur me on
to greater heights
when they bit in deep
But I could never make
that saddle fit
over her childbearing hips
Calamity will be sorely missed
Especially whenever I’m angry
without a safe word on my lips
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achieve greatness in the midst of defeat
sailing on the Ark late at night
Noah had many thoughts
all that would ever be
a man made womb
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I dreamt of seeing Noah
up on stage strumming guitar
looking so young
as he played harmonica
When the rain stopped
and the song was over
he gave a final blessing
. . . “Long may you run.”
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AAA lists Placebo Town
tolerably decent
if not salty
and rough
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The military withdrawal
from Placebo Town
was a complete debacle
with bodies all torn apart
littering the ground
For professional florists
and tourists of the dark arts
it was quite a spectacle
Not to mention all the
weapons and ammunition
left lying around
Retreat is the final option
here in Placebo Town
my home sweet home
deep in the fundamental
arms of pseudo country
where empires come
to roll over and die
upon it’s streets
of grinding poverty
All those killer drones
flying high
in the smoke filled sky
with a hard rain falling
There’s no place like home
so take the second star to the right
and straight on till morning
and you’ll awake up
safe and sound
in the mindset of Placebo Town
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the spokesperson for
“Break Free From Pharmaceuticals”
was found stuffed in a potato chip tin
Placebo Police Chief Jefferson
stated that it was clearly an accident
————–
————–
that crazy girl from the past
the one that loved me
and only me
the one that begged
to be penetrated upside down
said that she could feel my penis
pressing up against her soul
that crazy girl they locked away
well, yesterday she swam up
said that the boat was too slow
that she was desperate for finality
if I had anything left
I’d best be ready to go
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“As an unpaid spokesperson for The
Federation Of Free Pharmaceuticals
I always sleep with one eye open.
Perhaps I’d better lay off the meth,
and switch over to opium?”
~ Rabbi Herb Hoffa
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“The unaffiliated late Rabbi Herb
Hoffa now sleeps soundly in a bed
of concrete beneath a Placebo Town
shopping mall car park.”
~The Federation Of Free Radicals
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don’t know how Dylan stands up
if the wind is his friend or his enemy
what he thinks is ordinary
standing in a pawn shop
next to the Dollar Store
a suitcase of guitar strings
a golden wedding ring
the money
self-erasing
looked small in his hands
it wasn’t enough to leave town
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Took an untrodden path once,
where the swift don’t win the race
It goes to the worthy,
who can divide the word of truth
Took a stranger to teach me,
to look into justice’s beautiful face
and to see an eye for an eye
and a tooth for a tooth
I and I
In creation where one’s nature
neither honors nor forgives
Noontime,
and I’m still on the road
on the darkest part
Into the narrow lanes,
I can’t stumble or stay put
Someone else is speakin’ with my mouth
but I’m listening only to my heart
I’ve made shoes for everyone,
even you while I still go barefoot
I and I
In creation where one’s nature
neither honors nor forgives
I and I
One said to the other,
no man sees my face and lives
~ Bob Dylan
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broke down in tears tonight
everyone around me
started saying
what they
were going to do
on day one in heaven
(+) I saw my reflection, it was me who was fading
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hitchhiking to Placebo Town
John Prine pulled over
he said, “I’m straight but I like curly”
better than winning the lottery
John Prine, my hero
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I’m not that much
into country music
There’s more to life
than old dogs and pick-up trucks
and that Keith Urban
his music truly sucks
but I don’t think white men
should be singing rap
It seems to me to be
a cultural violation
like an appropriation
of someone else’s creation
I guess Machine Gun Kelly
and Picasso have that in common
I would’ve left Africa
for the Africans
and Afghanistan to the Afghans
But then … I’m a stranger
in a strange land
known as Gondwana
There’s a huge rock
sitting right in the middle of it
I’ve walked all around it
but never dared to climb it
as the traditional inhabitants
say that it is sacred
I’m not superstitious
and rock climbing can be fun
but it’s just not worth it
Life is too short and sweet
to go offending anyone
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no shortage of misfortunes
catalog after catalog
a man outside
says I can
have his
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