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 
my wife permits me
to see what is never seen
however, I remain outdoors
she says, “the church is sealed”
———0———
I hired a night porter
with access to drugs
an attractive man
willing to share
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True Confessions:
since breaking free
of a family curse
in the safety of a FedEx box
I seem to be living in reverse
having died at birth
only to come under the spell
of the deepest sorcery
and words transcendental
a child seeking wisdom
and a shelter from infinity
in the arms of older women
and the gentle embrace
of potions substantial
like being nursed in a hospital
one man’s prison cell
is another man’s lap of luxury
now it would seem
I have a thing going on
with a tender young teen
whatever a thing means
who says that she loves me
as she hops into my car
demanding reciprocation
in a merciless hurry
all soft and moist
yet tight as a drum
I guess even
the wisdom of Solomon
will only get you so far
Sweet Jesus … please help me!
LikeLike
the appetite for sex
naked and conscious
the essence of Michael extended
early morning cigarettes
contentment of mind
LikeLike
24 HOUR MICHAEL
a circle in a rush of squares
Michael actualized and erect
THE HOPE FOR RECIPROCITY
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haunted by old loves
accidental relationships
disenfranchised, entrapped
—————————————
—————isolation—————
—————————————
—————————————
the hour of the day
explicitly religious
expressed in
ejaculations
———–
———–
Blackstar, USA
God-given Bowie
asked to donate his sperm
to start a new Jerusalem
semen brotherized
by technology
quick paced
tailed larva
Blackstar, USA
God-given Bowie
LikeLike
True Confession:
sweet Susie the lesbian
my soft hearted friend
I miss her so much
she was small
but more than a handful
perhaps too much
for a poor boy to handle
with her hand drawn mandalas
and her erotic poetry
yet I know that to her
I was more than a mere toy
she was studying photography
at the local institute
whilst I was still in high school
so I guess she was a bit older
as she instructed me
in how best
to pleasure each over
and to be sexually bolder
she was quietly proud
of whatever her cat dragged in
be they ever so inviting
but three’s a crowd
so I never joined in
with Susie’s soft spot in action
but being exuberantly loud
I couldn’t help paying attention
to the next coming attraction 🎥👀🍿
like pictures in an exhibition 🖼️😎🔲
I really do miss Susie
my sweet friend the lesbian
LikeLike
Bowie with his eye holes
later one sees skull sockets
birds sing at birth and death
Bowie expires
a monotone of existential despair
ravens on loan make noise
Earthen Ladder removed
claims to be in heaven
looks more like
New York
LikeLike
REAL LIFE: 10/27/2023
I cooked supper. Invited a female friend over to share the meal.
She arrived and we ate in near silence. A simple 8 out of 10.
I asked her if she would like a backrub, she took off her bra.
I massaged her back, breasts and thighs for 45 minutes.
She put her bra back on and left.
Later she called
“Thank You”
LikeLike
REAL LIFE CAN BE NICE ☑️
a “Thank You” in the hand
is often worth two in the bush
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ribbons of phone numbers
miles of phone numbers
numbers never called
the phone sleeps
in its box
I called Emily Dickinson once
the role she chose to play
her birth skin, sufficient
LikeLike
thorns amongst the flowers
dripping with venom
poetryWORKShop
where thinly disguised
confirmation bias
prejudice and hate speech
gets all tied up
with ribbons and bows 🎀
and a cherry on top
crap gift wrapped
for the weak-minded
and the easily influenced
by the the oh so modest
“It’s just my creative process.”
parroting something 🦜
they heard on a podcast
whilst spruiking their latest
book of indulgence
and inane generalities . . .
‘The Blandness … a Poetic Offering’
at poetryWORKShop
the book reviews
are always very nice . . .
“Put your teeth in, sweetheart
’cause this book really bites!”
LikeLike
I spoke to Emily Dickinson prior to birth
she was floating inside her mother
Emily, at best a sister to a penis
in the parade of funerals
a mourner, never a star
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David Bowie singing, “you’re not alone”
but sadly at Death he was alone
people painted on the walls
faces of loved ones
just empty masks
———————————the real world was not real
———————————a thousand dark menaces
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Light and Darkness
I know that I know
there is a divide
there is a difference
having been in the presence
and witnessed the menace
of the Prince of Darkness
and then to ascend
in a bright cleansing light
to be granted a glimpse
and to know the embrace
of the Prince of Peace
to be given a second chance
with a spiritual rebirth
in the here and now
I know what I know
loving reassurance
always so close
a light in the distance
that pierces the darkness
with love and forgiveness
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Emily Dickinson
at best a sister to a penis
the trail of males from birth
a daddy, a brother, 10 fingers
(+) acknowledging subservience
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Emily Dickinson
hid in her room
where the great unwashed
with their dirty fingernails
and halitosis breath
could never touch her
but now Big Emily ™
secretly comes out of her
bedside drawer nightly
till Ava Aldorfer
the Bavarian Librarian
is all stiff and sore
LikeLike
tossed to the street
for asking
why fingers are thought to be masculine
caught up
in measuring incalculable distance
slow-witted adults with yardsticks
LikeLike
the guy at the smoke shop
tried to get me to toke
his wife’s hair
killer wave
pure THC
unblinkingly matter of fact
I looked deep into her eyes
baby doll busy playing house
satin, silk, no underpants
tiny butterfly flaps
down there
LikeLike
Poetry Toke Shop
something to vape on
lives of loud respiration
and unrestrained desperation
flapping as in a maelstrom
of methamphetamine
like an L.A. Women
going commando
on the mean streets of Placebo
with an itchy womb
whinging about her back door
that’s been ripped off it’s hinges
and torn to pieces
by some riders of the storm
the lesson from Poetry Toke Shop
… just take things one at a time
LikeLike
(+) quilting bees and barn raisings (+)
that there were dinosaurs
on the Ark
I exercised restraint
some thoughts are best ignored
instinctive certainties from a rummage sale
dinosaurs on the Ark
eager for what will come next
LikeLike
. . . what will come next?
the KuKu Klux Klan
now dressed in black
Canaanites celebrate in private
the rape and murder
of their neighbour’s children
the next day protesting in the street
that the enemy doesn’t fight fair
their anonymous women kept in a sack
subservient incubators of Armageddon
with cries of “Genocide!”
“Innocence!” is just an empty slogan
for a lynch mob tribe carrying a rope
brother Cain is on the attack
high on jealous religious outrage
humanity the abducted prisoner
taken hostage to a forsaken snakepit
beyond any hope
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David Bowie, Blackstar, Placebo Town
———0———
by the time he got to Placebo
Bowie was a king
however
money vanished
wealth no longer in hand
the King became death funded
his questionable tomorrow
sleeping on a gravel road
———0———
BOWIE DID NOT BLAME HIMSELF FOR HIS DISAPPEARANCE
———0———
looking sick
Hobo Bowie
a woman with a tail
puts his skull on display
the astronaut expired
his bible black
his Blackstar
LikeLike
ANONYMOUS WOMEN KEPT IN A SACK
on television they place snakes in a sack
on a sad note:
puppies/kittens in a sack
before they sink
the future time of the final song
David Bowie on a gravel bed
tiny peephole rockstar
filthy rich
bankrupt
LikeLike
RATS THE SIZE OF CATS
attended the funeral
diamond dogs in style
down a darkstar tunnel
bitches in the heat
with puppy dog tails
and a leash to hang onto
Ziggy is now stardust
and Major Tom
can no longer hear you
Ground Control
is spreading his ashes
at a Buddhist temple
A FLEA THE SIZE OF A RAT
delivers the eulogy
whilst sucking the life
out of a cigarette
“This ain’t genocide,
it’s just rock’n’roll.”
“Now cracks a noble heart.
Good night, sweet prince,
and flights of angels sing
thee to thy rest”.
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lucky enough to get close to Mr. Bowie
whisper in his ear about dinosaurs on the Ark
Placebo citizens have often asked
“why did Noah not sleep ?”
dinosaurs on the Ark
lucky enough to get close to Mr. Bowie
to warn him that his treasures were junk
his cash-money counterfeit
THE BLACKSTAR
rewards one soul
dry humps another
LikeLike
an Ark floating over
a mass extinction event
next to a storm water drain 💦
K-pop bands
and unicorns 🦄
dancing in the rain ☔
moments later
Noah sent
David Bowie
and Mick Jagger
to look for dry land 🏝️👀
saying …
“Try not to drown!” 🌊🙊🙈
but they never returned
they were too busy
dancing in the streets 🙉
of Placebo Town
where despite the rain 🌧️
the fire of Cain
still burned bright 🔥
Noah soon learned
never to send
beasts of burden
on the wings of flight
to do things right 🌈🕊️
LikeLike
the wife coats herself in corn starch
six o’clock
she rolls down her shutters
no more arguments
verbal diarrhea
fistfights/sexual possibilities
the theatrical wife
retires
a hermit crab
LikeLike
the loving wife
wholeheartedly approves
of me embracing her sexuality
I guess . . .
the second time around
I got lucky
my first time on the matrimonial
merry-go-round
it was all about
rapid fire procreation
with anything naughty
strictly rationed
that’s no way to stoke the passion
in a dead man walking
so I secretly had a vasectomy
and then the fornication became
regular as clockwork
as nightly she would jump on me
and come down on my chimney
like a sexy Santa Claus
in a torn négligée
going berserk
for some ejaculant
from a pair of baubles
now hanging purely for decoration
eventually
with no more babies
I told her the only explanation
must be premature menopause
and at least she’d got seven
luckily she believed me
but the whole situation
left me feeling like a jerk
till the day she announced
with much jubilation
she was expecting
yet another baby
I just smiled saying . . .
“Congratulate the FedEx
delivery man for me!”🚚
LikeLike
photographed masturbating
backstage
at a Tommy James and the Shondells concert
photographed masturbating
with Lee Harvey Oswald in the background
at a famous window in the Texas Book Depository
———0———
DYSFUNCTIONS/TRIUMPHS
———0———
LikeLike
Lee Harvey Oswald’s wife told me
that Lee could only cum
if she spoke in Russia whilst poking
an iron suppository up his bum
Marina Oswald also mentioned
how much she enjoyed having
her dead husband’s body exhumed
as it was the only time she ever
got to see him stiff ⚰️
and how nice it was being a widow
After a stern spanking in Russian
I thanked her for showing me in person
that Texas Book Depository window
She let me keep the iron suppository
as a cherished love token 💕
LikeLike
snip those tubes
one discards their physical self
a ventriloquist voice and nothing more
no caller ID
———0———
desire to maximize pleasure
the desire to maximize everything
(+) the effort it took to pull the steering wheel from your ribcage
(+) the effort it took to pull your knees from the dashboard
LikeLike
late one full moon night 🌝
I saw that delivery truck driver 🚚
a FedEx box in his hand 📦
prowling around our back door🚪
turns out that mother trucker
was a werewolf 🐺 after all‼️
no wonder the baby
came out so damn hairy 🐨
my divorce lawyer
happily informed me 🗣️
I needed no further proof 🧾 🔍
of my wife’s infidelity
with a side serve of beastialiy 🚫
He was so amused
at my sad story 🤭
he took the case for free
saving me a truckload of money 💰
with my poor lovelife 💔
soon to resume 💞
but the last I saw of that lawyer
he was howling in the light
of yet another full moon 🌝
on his bleeding neck 🩸
I can only presume 🤔🕶️
was my ex-wife’s love bite 👄
who now only ever
comes out at night 🌉
LikeLiked by 1 person
there comes a time for many of us
when we become a liability
David Bowie
“By the time I got to New York City
I was living like a king”
farting bluebirds
short on funds
LikeLike
the backdoor of Blackstar
the collapsed lung of a birthday
2 days past
Elvis long dead
the backdoor of David Bowie
a slight leak
squeezed from the tip of someone famous
Bruce Springsteen (the rat)
LikeLike
an entire world full of musicians
with only one question
“why did you wish for death ?”
Bowie at his birthday best
standing in the cake
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BLACKSTAR
Elvis carried the Blackstar to the party
it was Elvis, the scarecrow on the cross
the 3 stages, straw stuffed cancer
he had to go
LikeLike
David Bowie
there in his resting recline
his waiting room, his exit nest
outside the radius of the earth
the radius of his ego, his soul
———0———
by the time
he arrived
he was
gone
(under vending machines looking for coins)
LikeLike
(+) David Bowie collecting coins under vending machines
living on nickels and dimes
a king without gold
a voice in the
wilderness
David Bowie
and his kingdom
of reshaped dust
components of the Blackstar
emblems and signs, words and phrases
exhibiting the symbol of Elvis
holding it high, the black star
a living corpse
that no one
noticed
LikeLike
his doctor didn’t give a shit
that David was famous
PAYMENT UPFRONT
friends and family
had no idea that
he was dying
———
he looked like an unborn calf
coated with a clear snot
he was an ancient
SUPERSTAR
LikeLike
Bowie often called long dead relatives
bragging about his wealth
sometimes 260 million
often 300 million
he outsmarted
everyone
He monetized his past
and marched into New York
a king with chubby calves, roebucks, fallow deer
he looked snazzy in his astronaut suit and socks
LikeLike
when a rockstar doesn’t want a rock sound
he hires misfits and jazz junkies
studio/rodeo musicians
Dollar Store quality
got me one
of those
black
stars
on the cover
they say it reflects
the light of the full moon
for $3.75 it was a fabulous deal
toss in “you know what Elvis said”
and the “Blackstar” project was a blast
LikeLike
a lonely penis plays the grand piano
a Placebo Town recording studio
musicians paid by the hour
around the doorway
broken members
of forgotten bands
waiting for a customer
each recounting their glory days
through a haze of drugs & groupies
not everybody gets to be
a Bruce Springsteen
or a David Bowie
to live and die
in rocking
luxury
R I P
DB
🖤
D
LikeLike
one can purchase a small roadmap of “Blackstar”
the path becomes an end in itself
sanitized and translated
glorification
of a flat tire
on the liver
—————————————————————-FLAT TIRE ON THE LIVER
—————————————————————-FLAT TIRE ON THE LIVER
—————————————————————-FLAT TIRE ON THE LIVER
LikeLike
an erect pianist plays a baby grand piano
no chair to be found
in a Placebo Town recording studio
the ghosts of Jerry Lee Lewis
and Elvis Presley
reelin’ and a rockin’ to the sound
Marc Bolan and David Bowie
sit quietly in the corner
blackstar struck in the presence
of true Rock ‘n’ Roll royalty
outside the footsteps of the next customer
with yet another new sound in mind
for the cashed up consumers
the all consuming youth of Placebo Town
LikeLike
a Placebo Town recording studio
where the blues are infused
with heroin and cocaine
a neon sign … BLOTOWN RECORDS
is flashing in the window
an erect penis is banging away
on an upright piano
emitting blackstar energy
with the ghosts of Little Richard
and Chuck Berry singing LUCILLE
out in the back alley
a handful of session musicians
and backing singers are sharing
a joint, jokes, and needles
It would seem BLOTOWN RECORDS
on the boulevard of broken dreams
is Placebo Town’s ground zero
of the latest hepatitis outbreak
David Bowie and Lou Reid
it’s whitest of white victims
some say a fitting punishment
for sneaking about the back alley
and stealing some
of that blackstar energy
Elvis Presley did try
his best to warn them
by setting an example
but they just wouldn’t listen
to the howls of B.B. King
a Placebo Town recording studio
is now closed for quarantine
with Dolly Parton boot scootin’
into the Rock ‘n’ Roll hall of fame
as Kurt Cobain blows out his brains
after a brief moment of Nirvana
the drummer became a Foo Fighter
but BLOTOWN RECORDS
will never be the same
LikeLike
Dolly Parton boot scootin’
Dali sodomizing a grand piano
oddly potent scents
LikeLike
the boss of BLOTOWN RECORDS
managed to keep it quiet
but it was the janitor
from the recording studio
who shot John Lennon dead
after taking a trip with Carlos Santana
the jukebox in his head
started telling him to kill Dolly Parton
because she was a black magic woman
and so he could wear her bra and wig
but he went and shot Lennon instead
in the vain hope
of hopping into a walrus skin
and imagine he was someone big
the moral of this story
about a Placebo Town
recording studio janitor
is you should always listen
to the jukebox inside your head
especially when popping LSD
with Carlos Santana
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as punishment
Bowie locked me feet up
so I had to stay indoors today
after much research, all I can ask
WHAT WAS THE DRIVING FORCE OF BOWIE ?
who or what it was
is never visible
(I’m serious)
mounds of lyrics
music sheets
costumes
signing papers
making small talk
dancing with fame
LikeLike
tons of crap
and out of the blue
a flat tire on the liver
———such a sweet boy
———that little Bowie
LikeLike
not so little Lolita
keeps leaving her panties
on the floor of my car
(but they do come in handy
for cleaning the windscreen)
when Viking Mother tells her off
for not wearing any
with her very short mini dress
that barely covers her buttocks 🍑
she just smiles and says
that she’s completely out of panties
despite Viking Mother buying plenty
but just like Lolita’s vagina
it’s no mystery to anybody
who cares to look and see 🌸👀
to find the source
of her blackstar energy ⚫
as that’s where I once found
a love letter from David Bowie 💌
it was rather short and sweet
but it hit the spot down below 🎯
with the words . . .
“Hot Tramp, I love you so!”
LikeLike
countless people spend their adult years proofreading love letters
coffee-swilling characters, extroverts who poop in the stall with no door
LikeLike
another day
another driving lesson
with not so little Lolita
on the way to school
when pulled over 🚙
for a breathalyzer 🚓
but being no fool
and using her head
Lolita blew
the policeman instead
as she’d been up all night
drinking shots of tequila
and never went to bed
just another day
in the life of Lolita
I’m really
going to miss her
without any doubt
when she
her Viking Mother
and even Ava
finally move out
LikeLike
I often find Ava
sitting in my car
using a pair of Lolita’s
not so little panties
to wipe away her tears
crying that Lolita
doesn’t really love her
and that Viking Mother
is the sum of all fears
I’ve tried my best
to console her
but there’s only
so much you can do
for a lonely
lesbian pole dancer
(That’s the only employment she
could find after we brought her
back with us, like some holiday
souvenir, as there’s not much call
for librarians here in Australia 🦘
I’ve suggested she head for Florida
and move in with Multiple Michael.)
LikeLike
Warning:
down there
has an ability
to asphyxiate invaders
———0———
escape the House of Love
rest not in the field
of spent valentines
LikeLike
earthquakes heave
volcanoes smolder
orgasms explode
less-than-human
amateurs spying
forays, desperate
perhaps, ghoulishly
David Bowie at work
LikeLike
caught in the gravity
of blackstar energy
and the sounds emanating
from the velvet underground
meteorites
and Placebo Town celebrities
they come and go
streaking across the universe
never to be seen again
the likes of David Bowie
James Dean
and Marilyn Monroe
to the delight of the peasantry
who gaze up at the night sky ⭐
wondering how they shine
so brightly ✨
LikeLike
David Bowie speaks,
“You wanted me to tell the truth”
BLACKSTAR
just another exit
a famous boy parting
———0———
frowns at the repair shop
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at the BLOTOWN recording studio
where a BLACKSTAR with vitiligo
hides in the shadow
the Boss
keeps in his desk
along with the money he stole
from Sixto Rodriguez
his medicine chest
fully stocked with amphetamines
to get things going
some viagra for the after party
and the barbiturates for when it’s time
for his session musicians to unwind
at the BLOTOWN recording studio
a flaccid pianist is slumped over
the broken keyboard
of an old honky-tonk piano
and dreams of receiving
a standing ovation
after a rousing performance
of ‘In Flagrante Delicto’ in G Major
with Taylor Swift playing the whore
atop of his concert grand piano
the audience now stamping their feet
demanding an encore
meanwhile . . .
the janitor sweeps up the mess
of another hard day’s night
in the BLOTOWN recording studio
and switches off the radio
sitting in the shadow
where a BLACKSTAR with vitiligo
is dripping fentanyl
all over the floor
as the Boss and Judas Priest
the heavy metal exorcist
Implore the ghost of Sixto Rodriguez
in the stage name of Jesus
to stop moaning for more
like a penniless hobo poltergeist
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David Bowie was forced to live in a reality
where his soul was super glued
to his exterior status
WHAT WAS IMPORTANT?
(+) deciphering his foreskin
(+) his states of mind
David Bowie:
real and unreal simultaneously
layered a thousand times
when I asked Moses
he said that Bowie
was a functional
kaleidoscope
LikeLike
DAVID BOWIE:
was he a remarkable piece of apparatus
or
did he have a remarkable piece of apparatus
———0———
———0———
by the time he got to New York
he was living like a king
money
turns others
into strangers
(+) enormous amounts of wealth
forces Hieronymus Bosch to live outdoors
LikeLike
the sign outside my village:
—-PENNILESS HOBO POLTERGEISTS—-
——–MOVE ON DOWN THE ROAD—-
LikeLike
the sign outside my village:
⬅️ THERE ARE 2 PATHS YOU CAN GO BY ➡️
in the end
there are but two paths
to ascend
one labeled FERTILITY
the other UTILITY
Lolita keeps getting in my face
asking me to ride in her utility
there’s certainly enough space
judging by her not so little panties
never a case of necessity
once or twice by chance
and purely by accident … of course
boot scootin’ in reverse
with a Dolly departin’ in the caboose
she said it was very nice
but all in all
the whole ordeal inside
the Great Hall of the People
was an exercise in futility
and with nowhere to hide
could leave a man crippled
the things I must do
to make Lolita happy!
but I try my best
to do what’s right
and keep things tight
. . . so heaven help me!
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David Bowie in the arms of a praying mantis
and he thought Death would be less primitive
(+) regression from culture back to nature
ask yourself,
how corrective will Bowie be in his next phase ?
will he be the milk of controversy ?
a thousand fat breasts
for snot bags
to suckle
disorganized gender
inconsistent whims
flowering holes
the rose
with evil
appetite
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the highest principles of NATURE
creatures sniff you out
consume you bone
and tooth
the external united
with the internal
one cannot die
24/7 voices begging for release
David Bowie in the arms of an insect
half his head gone, wrapped up in pain
prayers no longer heard, nothing to make it stop
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the primal imperative to multiply
visions etched into the bones
of a creative mammal
given to worship
survival
is
written
with invisible ink
on the skin of natives
where a totem pole towers
over a crowded concrete jungle
PLACEBO TOWN
where there’s no time to think
about such things as imperatives
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I saw David Bowie at the factory this morning
he was being squashed with pumpkins
to put in cans for people
who live too far north
JUST THINK
a pumpkin pie
with a Bowie smile
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music encourages people to engage in criminal activities
to behave violently, to form weird ideas about gender
eight days a week, underscoring its control over us
David Bowie and his predator criminals on stage
Blackstar, where victimizers are victimized
(+) a dead astronaut wearing cheap socks
(+) petty theft, a woman with a tail
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in the absence of absinthe
the reptilian brain
needs something to hang onto
being an alien 👽
who fell to Earth 🌎
I find a woman with a tail
very endearing
in this crazy labyrinth
David Bowie was an imposter
but he did it so well
playing the cracked actor
working parts tender
of indeterminate gender
with cardboard pin-ups to sell
in Placebo Town perhaps
he was the Tyrannosaurus Rex
of Sex 🦖 but not on my planet 🪐
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imagine writing poetry about petty theft
a female with a tail, a Blackstar visible
Elvis with his fan base oral sex
every day being Christmas
———0———
access to the otherwise
penitentiary sex
where men hurl
themselves
———0———
THE PENIS CAN NEVER BE INCARCERATED
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MADE-FOR-TV MICHAEL
where it never hurts
it just glides in
like a race car
———0———
sodomy surveillance
Oliver Stone
with his good eye alert
NO TIME—— NO TIME
for habitual expectations
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in a previous marriage
in a former incarnation
my penis was sentenced
to hard time in the big house
for the crime of genital emancipation
after barely escaping
at the point of a sawn-off foreskin
and since marrying
a Celtic fertility goddess
of majestic proportions
my penis climbs regularly to the top
of the highest mountain
crying out … “FREEDOM!”
my ball and chain replaced
with a picturesque fountain
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the T. Rex of sex
perhaps a boy band
methamphetamine tall
lads-with-prison-haircuts
———0———
licking underarms
———0———
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the Blackstar brought back
fulfillment of a promise
remembered faults
made correct
(+) with Blackstar, my bones can walk
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“I don’t know where I’m going from
here, but I promise I won’t bore you.”
~ David Bowie
taboos
and invocations
Blackstar
in a coffin
emitting the flames
of a friendly
cremation
towering over
forgotten tombstones
the eulogy
of voodoo spoken
is solemnly read
over broken rites
by the soon
to be dead
at a grave site
for the living
token words
from the deepest
crevice of trauma
never needing
to be heard
by the survivors
of death
still breathing
praying for a Saviour
with no time
left to kill
or squander
seeking a cheap thrill
free from him
the blackest of stars
Grim the Reaper
words have the power
in the here and now
of both life and death
. . . and unto forever
“Religion is for people who fear hell,
spirituality is for people who have
been there.” ~ David Bowie
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———0———
pleasure before utility
one-way trajectories
raw materials
turned flesh
BLACKSTAR
repeatedly
inherited
gender
sin
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by the time I got to New York I was living like a king
hard-earned time in prison, meth and biblical cadence
my window was painted black but I could see my parents
sitting at the breakfast table sipping coffee, having a toot
———0———
romance turned to lust
end product with a name
MICHAEL, openly standardized
relative comfort, reinforced ladders
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years of pulling into DC as the sun came up
street people sleeping on steam grates
drinking from aftershave bottles
————the chaff of Johnny
( hobos and street people )
Mr. Johnny Cash
willing to exchange his kingdom
for another day with June
———0———
June was a sweetheart
riding into town
she would whisper/sing
riding into town
she would air her Blackstar
Johnny was her man
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Washington DC
years and years
college, nonstop
flesh and crazy sex
painted the entire USA
shadows, cloud bottoms
———0———
small talk in the lobby:
brides with reinforced
cockpit doors
possible
virgins
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