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 
living a mirrored life
people ask and I tell them
I sleep on stage to the crowds
(+) makes Jagger upset
living a mirrored life
people ask and I tell them
I sleep on stage to the crowds
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reward/punishment (LIFE)
my relatives unrenewed
the fires of Hell
so bright
indulgences downtown Placebo
some exclusive cave with Holy Bones
I am asked to reach in and save the unborn
LikeLike
Unfortunately for me
I took that Alford plea
whilst wearing
Diego Maradona’s
‘Hand of God’ soccer shirt
and sucking on
a Toe of Satan lollipop
(a Placebo Town favourite)
leaving no doubt
as to my innocence
The Judge said …
“That’s a wrap.
Thank you very much.
Next stop the penitentiary.”
But then
the prosecutor cried out …
“That’s not good enough!
Johnny Depp would like
his ball sack back. Only a
psychopath would hang it
from his mantelpiece.”
That’s when I woke up
and realised I was
in the wrong courthouse
I almost missed
Amber giving evidence
What a performance!
What a great actress!
LikeLike
In the Supreme Court case
of Death versus Life
brought by the District Attorney
of Placebo Town County
(yes, that place where dead
Kennedys litter the ground)
the question was asked …
“Who don’t like kids, anyway?”
LikeLike
no cause for shame
de’ ball sac
not return
home
believe in God
not the scrotum
(+) leave the laundry list folded up
Johnny Depp:::::::him and not-him
Johnny Depp:::::::his apparent self and his true self
a movie star caught up in good manners
order and obedience
LikeLike
In my dreams
I’m wearing River Phoenix’s
black leather jacket
with a Toe of Satan lollipop
burning a hole in the soul
of my Viper Room pocket
with all the past pouring out
but Johnny Depp told me
not to worry about it
He’d get Amber to clean it up
but I was only worried about
that black leather jacket
In the Viper Room
there’s always plenty more
where I came from
The crumpled contents
of an errant FedEx box
misplaced in a storm
LikeLike
the Viper Room
thousands of young women
pee in jars collected hourly
boys in uniforms
surrender to their charms
barefoot sailors
with their underwear on the outside
the sight of the dong misunderstood
often a source of ridicule
LikeLike
just as you and I fear language
we collect it and store it
some in reach of enemies
some so well hidden
that it becomes lost
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Viper Room
loaded with agonies and tragedies
secrets in urine collected and analyzed
————————–
the mystery of Jesus crucified
————————–
atonement theories
among crumpled contents
they used to wrap you in that errant FedEx box
————————–
somehow a man stuffed you in that womb
blood from another creature nourished you
you had a human heart and two troubled eyes
LikeLike
standing in the grave
people warn me not to smoke
not to pack my nose with meth
I just want to retire
take my place
on the shelf
watch others
try to unlock
standing in the grave
inadequate and needy
developing a resistance
LikeLike
I have never said this
but others have
the urine collected
dew from Heaven
——urine warmed
——and sprayed
Placebo Town started as one inch of land
dwindle and wither not with the liquid gold
Queen Placebo
where no man works for their living
the child becomes the servant
the yoke of bondage
first class ticket
across the river
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masquerading as a lunatic
busting a move
24 hour party
shut eye: instant return to the Garden of Eden
holding hands with a stranger
walking outside past a guard
flames close the door
LikeLike
Christians shit their pants
Christ’s victory
over Satan
(temptations in the wilderness)
He may not be a mathematical genius
just check out that stream of influence
world forgotten except socks space grown
LikeLike
Michael is surrounded by creatures
who try to act as angels
Pascal: humans who reflect their backsides
reflect the beast
half truths
faulty extremes
make Jesus the center
LikeLike
outside my front door
someone planted the Warsaw Ghetto
suffering historical apprehension
the storm visible, bombs exploding
(+) language as landscape
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swimming in multiple streams
Michael triangulated
and yet a single
voice
(self constituted over time)
others suffer slings and arrows
LikeLike
that other guy who writes
I think he’s taken the short pants avenue
(overwhelmed by poetry)
nowhere else to turn
short pants and an excuse
—————somewhere, flowers are blooming
the recognition that life is beside the point
reality arrives in repetition
same old pinto beans
same old cornbread
no new turds today
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busy taking pills to forget the past
to outsmart the agony of skinned knees
poets riding on rails that were laid down long ago
straight line to short pants and an excuse henhouse
watching a TV Western under a blossoming apple tree
(+) addicted to seeing one thing in terms of another
LikeLike
Boss Nurse just left
a woman (June bug color on the cheeks)
in the back of her mind
more than one lover boy
“hold your tongue, and permit me to love”
(+) they will drop away, she will disguise herself more
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famous people and movie stars
Mick Jagger behind locked doors
self-understanding clay feet
the steady sound of meth
sudden eruptions
girl sex ooze
(+) critique extra charge
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always happy to wake up in Placebo Town
to create something new
irrelevant—YES !!!
open-ended forgetfulness
no identity just a physical body
painstaking sexual attempts
immediate punctuation
short tube snapper
LikeLike
still doing time
the girls dance topless
drugs come and go, free samples
no matter what I say, I end up
with a short tube snapper
(+) a better man knowing that I touched bottom
LikeLike
never retuned a check uncashed
and then one day things started to change
the creative process
masculinity
parallels
lovers with dollar signs
literary equivalents
kissing strangers
fingering holes
LikeLike
the surface of life is pulled back
intolerable people separate
one returns to anonymous
another in short pants
pleasuring himself
with memories
of lovers lost
misplaced
LikeLike
I was surrounded
by sleepwalkers
shopping in their pyjamas
and Fanny Adams celebrities
doing yoga and pilates
in the Tibetan Himalayas
so they sent me
to the Placebo Canyon School
for troubled teenagers
where a gang of vestal virgins
led by Paris Hilton
the high priestess of pretence
wanted to study my entrails
but I soon discovered
it was a den of false credentials
That school in Placebo Canyon
was no place for a last resort
Paris romance
with Alice on Ice
No place for a Peter Pan
in short pants
seeking a wonderland entrance
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free from temptation
the tires on your Buick
soiled
sheltered, free from the wicked sinners
and Daddy they say that you cruise downtown
your mud flaps caked, the tires on your Buick soiled
(+) tossing bibles to the less fortunate
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maleficently
I couldn’t give a Buick
and unlike Oprah
I could not give a Pontiac
as generosity of spirit
fails me completely
after an old friend
turned into a deadly enemy
I’d known him since
he was just a young
dragon’s tongue
licking blood
from a jagged edge
now he’s begging for money
like some demented
and demanding whore
full of malice and envy
oozing veiled threats of violence
without a why or what for
Words now fail me
I would give him a hand
but he’s neither homeless
or poor
and here’s me
with an ever expanding family
always needing more
He was my Best Man
at my best ever wedding
Ten years of too much medication
and he’s not the same person
Now I find myself
having to most reluctantly
close a broken down door
A Psalm of David
The Lord is my Shepherd
[to feed, to guide and to shield me],
I shall not want.
He lets me lie down in green pastures;
He leads me beside the still and quiet
waters.
He refreshes and restores my soul (life);
He leads me in the paths of righteousness
for His name’s sake.
Even though I walk through the
[sunless] valley of the shadow of death,
I fear no evil, for You are with me;
Your rod [to protect] and Your staff
[to guide], they comfort and console me.
You prepare a table before me
in the presence of my enemies.
You have anointed and refreshed
my head with oil;
My cup overflows.
Surely goodness and mercy
and unfailing love shall follow me
all the days of my life,
And I shall dwell forever
[throughout all my days] in the house
and in the presence of the Lord.
LikeLike
Moses was over for a meal
I exercised my tongue
HE SAID,
“offer to pray with the needy person
permit God to provide that which is necessary”
intelligent people thank the Lord, not ask for more
God has a history of solving one difficulty with another
LikeLike
Once upon an exodus
whilst cruising
a murder on the Nile
baby Moses floated past
in a crumpled FedEx box
From high in the sky
a narrator’s voice
… “So punk, you think
you do rebellion with style?
Standby for a real liberator
like Nelson Mandela
who can hold his peace
when surrounded by violence,
and bring down a dictator
like that Vlad the Destroyer,
Emperor of All Russia.”
LikeLike
Casper the Ghost Daddy
making circles
(((((( $ ))))))
my favorite holiday gift: self-forgetfulness
recognition of the yoke fades away
talk of healthy adults/pets
what ?
LikeLike
Town & Country Magazine
has been doing a renovation
a Hollywood Glam makeover
to the house of my dreams
where new and old lovers
insist that fornication
is the way to my heart
but no sooner than I depart
they fall apart at the seams
Apparitions from the pages
of Horse & Hound Magazine
whispering in hieroglyphs
promises of secret messages
Of course … I now stay awake
throughout all of my dreams
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stay awake through sleep
scatter treasured thoughts
every word you write, you share
sex: an exchange from the field holler
and the call-and- response pattern
of your newest bride
her seams still tight
“Lord, so tight”
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Having escaped
the Placebo Canyon School
for troubled teenagers
in short pants
I found the roadside service
at Los Alamos
with a reckless Paris
was just outrageous
It took a heavy toll
on Little Boy
Even the Fat Man’s fuel rods
were far too spent
for yet another explosion
till Enola Gay came along
and took us all away
with Paris Hilton riding
an atomic shotgun
Hiroshima our final destination
The resulting mushroom cloud
would’ve shamed
even Vladimir Putin
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simple fornication is never enough
a poke in the eye
an ear ripped off
extreme carpet burn
neighbors complaining
dogs barking 2 blocks away
LikeLike
Bob Dylan spoke of the Placebo Canyon School for Troubled Youth
his pearl-handled revolver had a snug fit in his short pants
lucky to be catalogued among the boys
who enjoyed the meals of water gruel
often finding true spiritedness
in the avenues of sodomy
his character enlarged
by the nightly visits
“tense and alert”
rape without
lubricant
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troubled youth
with clinched bottoms
some half burnt-out
some blossomed-out
angel wiped
from the crib at Bethlehem
to the cross at Calvary
LikeLike
The Monkey Pox
arrived here on Planet Earth
secreted in a crumpled FedEx Box
and has manifested en masse
at your local Walmart
but fear not
many a primate
have proven to be immune
to this pandemic contagion
and are now being quarantined
at a Placebo Town poetry workshop
LikeLike
pOETRY wORKSHOP
where one prays that one breaks free
free from the automatism of perception
old poets thirst for drink
librarians and hefty lesbians
pine for food
humans asleep in life
Picasso sold into slavery
a hard prize when they
saw his thing
LikeLike
sitting in the sun
with the cream
of Placebo Town
café latte society
waiting for words
ethological to come
sparkling reflections
with fingers flashing
like swords clashing
diamonds
gold and platinum
demanding
the milk of almonds
squeezed from the flesh
of life itself
all loud indiscretions
and proud talking
the decorated skeletons
on exhibition
something is lacking
the waitress oblivious
with a smile freely given
and breasts that promise
a milk of human kindness
that really
couldn’t care less
LikeLike
I spent my day
quiet in a Quaker graveyard
traces of complicated conceit
consoling images of strangers
arrangements of grief and loss
wildly expensive soil
freshly dug
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pOETRY wORKSHOP
Father took the male students to a farm
where they watched horses have intercourse
He talked about masturbation during the rapes
values on which poetry seems to depend
(+) privately, I cursed that damn Instruction Manual
LikeLike
Located in the dead centre
of this galaxy, the Milky Way,
there’s an interdimensional
birth canal, better known as
Einstein’s Wet Dream, since
to access this split in the
space-time continuum you
must pass through the event
horizon, thus becoming one
with the Alpha Clitoris Prime,
where all are welcome 🚀😎
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Bob Dylan
has a split in his pubis-continuum
an area that once produced golden eggs
but now serves as a topnotch lint trap
FRAIL
very frail
nothing supernatural
about leaking straw
dripping drool
waving at traffic
“Hi Bobby” as cars
honk their horns and speed by
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characters on the street
unfaced and faceless
cardboard boxes
hourly rates
face-to-face
or from behind
custodians of isolation
unfaced and faceless commerce
LikeLike
The Baby Formula
is no solution
A nationwide shortage
where there’s
no happy medium
with a flaccid
delivery system
suspended as a biohazard
pending an extreme
supreme court decision
Personally
I blame the lazy sperm
of a fast food
faceless generation
lacking any
self actualisation
always complaining
Not just that
Monkey Pox contagion
delivered direct
from outer space
in a crumpled FedEx Box
to a top secret
Floridian location
He may vehemently deny it
but even Elon Musk
can’t get no satisfaction
Not without a pair
of them space cotton soxs
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no lazy sperm
just challenged
folkloric phenomena
those listless swimmers
Stephen King paints them with blue eyes
lazy sperm speak to us of struggle and anguish
the capacity to survive good and noble
every person in America
starts out as an adolescent boy
adolescent boy until breasts flare
LikeLike
(what do spiders eat on space ships ?)
one problem with outer space
the inability or unwillingness
to shed romantic melancholia
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They now have pills for that
They’re called Pas de Regrets
According to Elon Musk
they’re an interplanetary must
Even the spiders spin
much nicer webs
regardless of the fact
there are no flies to catch
in outer space … Pas de Regrets
LikeLike
(what drives average people to reside in Placebo Town ?)
—————self-punishment—————
no normalcy, only propensity for cynicism and self-pity
poetry= the betrayals of life
gay cowboy paraphernalia
adult rocking horses
adult saddles
sugar cubes
LikeLike
BIOMIMICRY
in the Land of the Free
Understanding your place
in the Placebo Town scheme
of abstract conceptualization
Virtue signalling
social engineering
in combination with our very best
artificial intelligence
will set you free
LikeLike
a factory starts producing a clear fluid 100% safe
it kills all nature of insects even bugs without gender
you discover that if you spray yourself
you no longer have to shower
your hair becomes thick
and healthy
youth returns
you start spraying your food
and the excess weight seems to vanish
a simple squirt in the mouth and life becomes groovy
QUENCH’D BY AN EARLY DEATH
(+) quench’d by an early death
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I’m not talking weird
but to greet the leader
one had to press their tongue
on his black tooth and say, “Father”
perhaps, I am the only person alive who remembers
I find myself still trying to find footing on more solid ground
memories grow moss over the years and become slick and dangerous
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Relaxed
upon the green grass
amongst the givers
and the takers
the lovers
and the parasites
Pas de Regrets
Icebergs of a titanic past
tossed about in a tempest
only to melt
without a trace
by the still and quiet waters
gently refreshing
the endless fertile pastures
A struggle epic
throughout time and space
between fallen flesh
and risen spirit
has reached it’s grand finale
as nature itself
becomes a fanfare universal
All matter pulsating
to a rhythm celestial
Pas de Regrets
Olé!
LikeLike
realists claim that diapers contain the cold data
I collect my poop and mail it to Switzerland
but that is another story
writing must yank readers
away from external events
yank the Smith and Wesson
yank a gigantic fat German dong
yank everything but never disturb
((((((Pas de Regrets))))))
how does one sanitize the past ?
Michael writes lies
terrible hypereducated lies
and Michael is not very bright
raised by witches in the backwoods
educated in a small village by lugnuts
people who censored magazines and books
and yet, thought nothing of a blood bath or an orgy
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(how does one sanitize their zip code of origin ?)
hometown witchcraft has been neutralized
good little witches, white magick
basically Disney shit
the small amount
that I’ve made public
has gone over like a badger attack
pillowcases stuffed with drowned pets
towers of tires burning in the front lawn
LikeLike
Thunderstruck
by a virus of dubious origin
I suspect my lover’s crafty sister
had it fermented
in her bubbling bespoke cauldron
but being temporarily out of action
has given me the rare luxury
of some reflective contemplation
Thunderstruck
by a knife in the back
from a one time best man
Did he feel neglected?
I must confess
that when he gave up drinking
to pursue a life
of copious pill popping
he was no longer very much fun
This may sound curious
from someone raised
by a Dave & Buster’s waitress
who insisted I drink a Tequila Sunrise
every morning for breakfast
but by the time I started Junior High
alcohol seemed pointless
and the Tequila quite tasteless
Was it dumb luck
or amazing grace
that I managed to survive
without licking the salt
off an alien embrace
whilst imbibing the wrath
of a road kill statistic
along the twisted path
to a much nicer place?
Thunderstruck
in the land of the Second Amendment
Sure am glad I got out of there alive
to the warm comfort
of outer space
There’s a dearth of loving kindness
back there on Planet Earth
and I think it’s a disgrace
“I watched Satan fall from heaven
like a flash of lightning.” ~ Jesus
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Greater Placebo Truck Stop
yellow night where anything and everything flows urine
trying to fabricate thoughts, arrange words, to articulate
each member claims to be the best in bed
I’m thinking: police sketch personalities
I realize I’m not at pOETRY wORKSHOP
(+) artistic expression has no ownership
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I have many a fond memory
courtesy of my beloved
Edgar Allan PoeTry Workshop.
So named as the members would
try their best to reincarnate the
one and only Edgar Allan Poe,
but being gormless Goths all they
could manage was to imitate.
That’s despite the workshop being
held at my Long Island address,
at 112 Ocean Avenue, a place
of endless inspiration for any
fetid and fevered imagination,
having it’s very own pole dancing
poltergeist. Though I must confess
it was very nice to have some fellow
troubled delinquent teenagers, such
as Angelina Jolie and Winona Ryder,
frequenting our informal pagan
sacrifices … but when Kelly Osbourne
tried to join we all knew that the
Edgar Allan PoeTry Workshop was
done. Now just cherished childhood
memories in my Gothic scrapbook.
Some things were never meant
to see the light of the Sun.
Kelly Osbourne for one.
Each time you mention
that Machine Gun Kelly
I can only assume
you are issuing an instruction,
but as Kurt Cobain keeps on saying
… no, I don’t have a gun.
LikeLike
when a man can’t satisfy his craving
lock the door, use the chain
don’t buddy shower
or drop the soap
don’t stand close
when he goes wee wee
barricade the barn door
sleep with both eyes open
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“People often confuse my exit from Heaven
with JonBenet Ramsey’s exit from Earth”
~Satan
———————-
———————-
———————-
Michael the Multiple
a scrapbook of textual material
pure tabloid truth
pagan souvenirs
contradictions
false starts
ambient
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“Spoiler Alert:
Her brother, Burke Ramsey, did it.
If not for the post-mortem cover up,
this American whodunit, with it’s plot
as old as Cain and Abel, would lack
any discernible artistic merit.”
~ Cardinal Fang
Head Film Critic,
L’Osservatore Romano
LikeLike
what does it take to transform
a social type into a human ?
PLACEBO TOWN: chaotic metropolis
“Home of Self-Serving Romance”
drug-addled on colors without names
somebody spoke ill of the blues
stay on the reds, the yellows
weekly sex ?
15 wobbly minutes of rough terrain
+(defang the serpent)+
(+) pharmaceutically
LikeLike
poor little thing
never had a chance
her world was spinning fast
fancy hair and Hollywood threads
who would have ever guessed, late night pineapple
anger and a flashlight upside the head
no comment on the vulva damage
no comment on the choking event
money changed hands
both directions
LikeLike
outgrowing oneself
removing the ears
recuperate
perhaps
a mystical nose
in town at the pub
the girls want to see
goose eggs in the sac
LikeLike
The witching hour
was casting
it’s nocturnal spell
as it was getting rather late
and unnaturally dark
when I last checked into
the Honeymoon Hotel
for it was
the Night Manager himself
there at the reception desk
to hand me my room key
With a smile and a wink
he enquired most directly …
“Are you the master
of your receptors,
or is it they
that control thee?”
With no hint of a lie
came my hasty reply …
“From the cradle
to the grave
it is I who craves
that bitter-sweet taste
of pure oblivion.
In stark contrast,
my receptors all
have learnt to behave
in order to survive.
So now I bow
to their collective wisdom.”
Seeming to have derived some
satisfaction from my answer
the Night Manager summoned
the nearest porter …
“The Love Slave Suite
for Monsieur.
Only the very best
for our most regular
and cherished guest!”
LikeLike
(+) my uncle who never married and knows nothing of honeymoons
I bought him a bulldozer
he digs up the cemetery
retires in dark graves
blankets of mud
pillows of stone
sometimes we share a good sleep
dreaming of watching external events
INTERPRETING THEM
(+) questions about dispensing seed
LikeLike
(+) my uncle made a futile attempt
to parent me as my father was too
busy running the country
and my mother would stay out late
working that foreign currency
he more often than not resorted
to using his belt on my behind
what’s more
he seemed to enjoy it
saying that he needed to be cruel
to be kind
but I never cried, not once
knowing that one day
revenge would be mine
soon as I got the chance
now I use his tanned hide
to hold up my pants
A New Korean Saying:
Revenge is a dish best prepared
in Hell’s Kitchen, and then served
with much screaming
~ Kim Jong-un
LikeLike
muscular language at the Honeymoon Hotel
words and sounds of the grittiest sort
lovemaking becomes evidence
something that can be
used against you
consequences
LikeLike
Room service
will leave a tray
of complimentary
breast milk croissants
glazed with a secret aphrodisiac
extracted from the swollen pituitary
glands of pubescent peasants
along with a note
from the Night Manager:
‘Welcome to the Honeymoon Hotel.
Needless to say, being guests of
great substance, you’ll be in no need
of assistance in achieving you’re
endeavours. Regardless, please
accept a sumptuous offering from
the beating heart of our kitchen.
You can thank me with a modest
gratuity in the morning.’
I can tell your fancy
I can tell your plain
You give something up
for everything you gain
Since every pleasure’s
got an edge of pain
Pay for your ticket
and don’t complain
~ Bob Dylan
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the Boss Man say he no care to eat shit sandwich
he say he eat shit sandwich his whole life
the Boss Man say he find it difficult
if not impossible to smile
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denial systems
long-nurtured lies
like cigarette butts
people hold up a finger
“scrutinize this”
Boss Man upset with wife
she drag out the dirty laundry
masculinizing in public
gossip stuck on everything
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somebody said that the Boss Man was dead
stretched out beside the pavement
I cried,
“Lord, what have you done ?”
my punishment would start over
some shit bucket with something to prove
some shit bucket from some unknown place
“Lord, what have you done ?”
gender torture
racial torture
all the men lined up
with their dongs on display
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profound loss
peeking
around corners
wearing my name tag
I stay clear of quiet memoirs
dog poop and moral dilemmas
lesbian therapists think of me as lower-class
difficult to swallow, that fish with a thousand bones
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