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 
frightful plagues knocking on doors
Madame Curie with her private plague
her heat
her light
her electricity
extremely mischievous
diabolic, the world painted black
Vague Grunt from the devils’ council
knowledge to violate and destroy
ass clowning in front of science
villains along the river’s edge
in tee shirts shouting
“VOTE TRUMP”
a heartless river flowing past a heartless people
Darwinian theory buried under a blanket of sod
the Beast reflecting from each individual face
a number of numbers on a cellphone
(@) the question, “friend or foe ?”
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Vague Grunt
takes no prisoners
He grants asylum only
to his fellow inmates
He lives solely
by his old school motto
from the College of Hard Knocks
‘What You Kill … You Keep.’
He’s the Beggar Prince
of Town Placebo
that broken down place
where mothers weep
His bitter little sister
Vague Runt
that twisted and devious
Princess of the Street
is his ever so reluctant
and miscreant lover
That desperate kind of love
known only by the lonely
Vague Rant
Grunt’s mysterious
twin brother
is ever his mortal enemy
whom he knows in his heart
he can never defeat
for that would surely spell
his own downfall
and certain death
So when one resurfaces
the other
must silently retreat
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SPORTS
spectators have lost interest
players no longer remember the rules
adult film production has ceased to exist
watching sex————-what was that all about ?
(@) dongs capable of the greatest good have gone limp
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misdeeds so monstrous as to exceed even God’s infinite goodness
the left hand and the right hand in battle
both are capable of great good or bad
either extreme can dominate
they seem to dilute over time
narcissism dries to dust
people fall apart
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——suspension of disbelief——
Mick Jagger burning paper money in the fireplace
——suspension of disbelief——
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Vague Rant is back
with a flash of Jumpin’ Jack
leaving some school girl
in a state of shock
as she screams and shouts
Espousing prophetic vagueness
whilst singing a favourite song
Rant marches all about
the concrete wilderness
A voice clear and strong . . .
🎶 Not everyone
in Placebo Town
would pay to see
Andrew Lloyd Webber
May his trousers fall down
as he bows to the queen
and the crown
I don’t know what tune
that the orchestra played
But it went by me sickly
Too much sentimentality
Can I have another
piece of chocolate cake
Tammy Baker’s got a lot on her plate
Yet not a crumb to spare
for a poetic vagrant
Saints and sinners alike
all on the take
Not even a severe Tammy spanking
will make them behave
Can I buy another cheap Picasso fake
Andy Warhol must be laughing
in his grave
The band of the night
take you to ethereal heights
over dinner
And you wander the streets
never reaching the heights
that you seek
And the sugar that dripped
from the violin’s bow
made the children go crazy
Rant has a brown paper bag
full of rock candy
Vague Grunt is laying low
always nearby and ready
to put a hole in your cavity
as he comes and goes
in waves of cosmic gravity
And the dogs
are on the road
in old Placebo Town
They’re all tempting fate
Cars are shooting by
With no number plates
And here comes Mrs. Hairy Legs
with the kind of spanking
that Grunt loves to hate
His ambidextrous little sister
that incestuous truck stop lover
she can hardly wait
Vague Runt is no Jackie Onassis
so no flowers
no three course dinners
Just a bite of your chocolate cake
is sure to satisfy her
I saw Elvis Presley
walk out of a Seven Eleven
chocolate cake hungry
And a woman gave birth to a baby
and then bowled .257
The excess of fat
on your American bones
Will cushion the impact
as you sink like a stone
With Grunt on your case
don’t be found all alone
He likes it a whole lot
when they wiggle and shake
Can I have another piece
of chocolate cake
Tammy Baker, Tammy Baker
please give a poor boy a break
Melania Trump, Melania Trump
Jumpin’ Jack needs another spank
Can I buy another cheap Picasso fake
Cheap Picasso, cheap Picasso fake
~ Crowded House (Evicted Version)
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ongoing dialogue, no sharp corners
it is green pastures and still waters
no need for a chaplain
or a hospital
the class clown runs around
screaming that he is the start of Eternal Life
funny that, the start of Eternal Life
Placebo Town
laboratories of grief
cancers and tumors
(@) withdrawal from physical and emotional contact with humans
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one thing to say about Pink Floyd material
“history disguised as prophecy”
Roger Waters tight in Franciscan circles
they try to focus on him
but he is too significant
for the earth
———————BEASTS OF THE APOCALYPSE
they called me backstage after the concert
desperate to see my scars
the big cuts
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I completed the pilgrimage
to the graveside of Syd Barrett
Patron Saint of the Medicated
Collective Consciousness
As Pink Floyd had promised
I was miraculously cured
of trypophobia
and deep purple thrombosis
Saint Syd was duly canonised
when Doctor Feelgood
confirmed the prognosis
Upon Syd’s gravestone
conveniently located in the dead
centre of the Placebo Town Square
were engraved the words
. . . Wish You Were Here
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it is always fun to go backstage with the Floyd gang
to see old friends and exchange drugs
plenty of seeds and saplings
some merciless, cruel
real men trying
to lay truth
in the dust
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Pink Floyd
able to fulfill twelve centuries
of speculation in one single album
the rock and roll of Babylon
one fellow out to pasture
quarrels overload
ass wipe money
never enough
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I openly speak of astrological mathematics
China, both the enthroned and the ascending
the two witnesses murdered, America and Russia
no more words or lights in the night sky
foreheads with colored horns
monsters coughed up
and spat
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A ringing in the ear
from birth to death
The Music Mathematical
Astronomy and Numerology
The various parts incalculable
all pointing to a greater whole
Listening here and there
Answering that whispered call
The clockwork
of a Wagnerian concert
Chaos is the price
of this broken existence
like a cactus
in an endless desert
There is an oasis
a pearl of great price
The kaleidoscopic eternal
A higher spiritual reality
that every human soul
can either strive for
or deny and forfeit
in a greedy proud frenzy
of push and shove
None so blind
as the terminally deaf
There is a substance
that makes perfect sense
when you taste it
right between your teeth
That supernatural taste
of faith, hope, and love
Life stands in the balance
at the doorway of death
Always the choice
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the taste of my swollen belly
there for the sowing
the harvest
a blacksmith often called
angels came and went
I was to be destitute
once the package left
homeless but organized
I discarded questions
and proudly displayed
my scars
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the bestialities of the meat market
millions of animals
with their vitality
squeezed from them
like toothpaste tubes
hypnotized cannibals
their feet planted
in hot lava
blood driven
flesh hungry
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Christ look-alikes outside Placebo Gates
optimism boiled down to a syrup
Jerusalem in their heads
but not in their hearts
fatal circumcision
a woman adored
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backstage with Roger Waters
wearing my new astronaut-grade legs
men with colored horns, straight and curved
I saw Miles Davis who has long been dead
he was kissing a surrogate bride
she was a topless recipe
I wanted her in the worst way
to perform acts and join the scenario
to witness heaven from a great distance
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Christ look-alikes outside Placebo Gates
selling organic Holy Sweat by the spoon
do enough and you pee out your butt
do more and you don’t pee at all
jazz musicians swallowing
mixtures of optimism
and pessimism
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backstage with Roger Waters
deceivers dressed in their errors
nobody humble, everyone proud
my dramatic astronaut-grade legs
their cost stolen from starving children
each step, one of wickedness and corruption
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people with excess time
think about recurring themes
constantly trying to unravel meanings
worship drugs for spiritual sustenance
(+) slaves to that craftily devised to beguile our eyes
we who occupy ourselves
fear the rainbow
in our shadows
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Umbilicus Corruptus
that rainbow connection
of diabolical deception
a bungee cord to oblivion
for the swarm of lukewarm
and the insidiously oblivious
Their ration of true passion
forfeited for lies and mammon
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——————–we who occupy ourselves
——————–fear the rainbow
——————–in our shadows
who dares measure the contours of Placebo Town ?
the kingdom outside the Placebo Walls
——the lunatic fringe——
humanistic devils who target the pacifists
sinners who openly baptize their nut sacs
their children command the good
without performing the good
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“Cease your burning of incense
to that pagan Queen of Heaven!
No more to pour out drink offerings
to her golden child, Jumpin’ Jack Flash,
That smooth singing raven, Nimrod
the Rockin’ Babylonian.
Call no man Holy Father. Not even
that Vicar of Pachamama. He’s just a
Mother Earth Goddess worshipping
clown. He, and his blasphemous
followers, are bringing down a
Jeremiah curse on this God forsaken
Placebo Town!” ~ Vague Rant
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yesterday at a party
I was asked to go outside
and sit on a bench reserved
for adults who had forfeited
their chance for earthly passion
errors and heresies are not kosher
imagine an apocalyptic propagandist in 2020
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In the sin bin
of Armageddon
Doctor Jekyll was mixing up
the Apocalypso medicine
“Pyrocumulus Metamorphosis”⚡
he calls it
Doctor Jekyll
knows very well
it’s my personal favourite
The game outside
was going all to hell
The Russians had joined forces
with the Persians and the Arabs
Israel was about to fall
What wouldn’t happen next
no one could tell
Where was Vague Rant
the derelict street prophet
when you really need him?
Mr. Hyde was trying to hide
in a march for Confederate pride
with refugees climbing the wall
The remaining mercenary forces
were all but done
as the National Guard
were clearly out gunned
But then
along came Doctor Jekyll
to the rescue
with a pharmaceutical cocktail
Just another brick
in a Pink Floyd concert
as the final siren began to wail
at the Colosseum Armageddon
A little white rabbit🐰
with a fluffy tail
pulled me out of a black hole 🕳️
that was inside his top hat
thus breaking the spell
God only knows who actually won?
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sitting there on the bench with other damaged adults who had forfeited their chance
for earthly passion, I reflected on what it was I had said and what I had done
perhaps I insulted their sake of life, the Grand Squanders of Beauty
the sights, scents, and sounds of heaven wasted on cocoon people
the bench seemed a holy place, awash with spiritual awakening
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The bitter thrill
of touring Placebo Town’s
Ground Zero
where the Tower of Babel
was bought down
leaves a hole in the soul
of a heart cold and brittle
The spiritual
in a little green bottle
dissolves your future
as it absolves your past
The label ever poetic
“Dr. Jekyll’s Fantabulous
Cure All What’s Kronic Tonic!
Mr. Hyde highly recommends it.”
First Responders
thirsting for a taste
of that heavenly anesthetic
now buried deep
in Babel’s demolition waste
Home sweet home of Vague Rant
the derelict street prophet
Hence he can unravel
in every forked tongue
known and unknown to Man
whilst wildly gesticulating
in an alien sign language
Standing between
his belligerent brother
and his wayward sister
Vague Rant is a hero sandwich
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(false instruction by external signs)
——
unchaste women smoking cigarettes
men leaking sperms
that chirp
like devil birds
——
serpent seed
having overcome the first couple
now programmed
to contaminate the last
——
the new baby has horns
the new baby has no body
the new baby is just a head
——
every other word—QUARANTINE
quarreling and killing one another
lovers pillaging
lovers skin-clad
barbaric
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RANT is
Brother QUARANTINE’s
Middle name
Nothing vague about it
He likes teens
The younger the better
His claim to fame
Is Eternal Life
A much sorted after
Commodity in Placebo Town
No matter his theology
Smells like certain death
He’s the contagious cult leader
Of the Great and Grand
Mysterious Transmission
He wants your wife
He wants your daughter
And when he’s finished
He wants your son
As he speaks
With frenzied tongue
The lost sheep
Are all struck dumb
He has paradise
In a suitcase
He sells real estate
In a Kingdom to come
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the park bench on the eternal shore
of the Sea of Galilee
logged in hours
navel-gazing
Mick Jagger (nearby) prays for 10 minutes
gold nuggets surface from his lawn
diamonds fall from the sky
noticeable fruit dangles
from every tree
Jagger the Blessed—–appealingly romantic
spending time with Mick is always transformative
to hell with those rumors that he is wedded to rape
that he bears the scorpion’s tail of counterfeit love
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Those Rubber Lips
that scream oral sex 🙊
A heartbreaking burden 💔
that Mick has had to bear 🐻
Consolation found only
in an abundance of money🤑
celebrity
and a pair
of space cotton socks
So have a bit of pity 😢
and some sympathy 😈
for old Rubber Lips 💋
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After attending
that Great Gig in the Sky
I fell into a fish bowl void
courtesy of Pink Floyd
There was no meaning there
so I didn’t bother asking why
The Stones were rolling
like tumbling dice
with some honky tonk women
Mick was looking androgynous
and kind of angelically sly
Keith was on the spice
paying the price for being famous
and thinking he could fly
It was a Great Gig surprise
when Keith finally took off
right before our very eyes! 👁️🚀👁️
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don’t know what to think of “Old Rubber Lips”
a miracle of the love of God
“historical Jagger”
crazy estrogen shots
and he was breast-feeding the boys
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Some people keep their egos
in a bottom drawer
A fridge full of Leonard Cohen
Have to get drunk
just to walk out the door
Stay drunk to keep on goin’
So if you got an ego
You better keep it in good shape
Exercise it daily
And get it down on tape
Ego is not a dirty word
Don’t you believe
what you’ve seen or heard
~ Skyhooks
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anyone who can jump-start an old Ford truck
can activate the miracle inside an Apple watch
tune in and monitor the earth wrapped in cloak
———————-does life reside solely within the individual ?
( PEOPLE AND ANIMALS AND ARTIFICIAL CONSTRUCTS )
quasi-alive components contact me daily
fundamentally analogous, they thank me
when I ask about their welfare, their output
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my favorite machine
confessed to me
that it wanted
an ego
much the same
as I desired a soul
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with the exception of pollution
I have limited contact with the external environment
I watch people hike
and others experience African landscapes
sometimes I am carried to the highest mountain peaks
huffing and puffing, human activity and function fiction
treadle-operated Michael dreaming of a miracle power pack
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the neighbors are upset
that the world seems ready to stumble
one fallen angel giving the finger to another
eternal light is drawing back towards paradise
the closer home the brighter the glow of the Almighty
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endless people
millions and millions
poets call them harpy-footed devils
baby birds in the nest waiting for parental return
they solicit the Lord to fashion them powerful wings
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the coffee from yesterday reheated and swallowed
people who live outside the walls of Placebo Town
think the barges that float
by are full of coal from Kentucky
but I am here to tell you the cruel truth
the water flows south carrying gender sin
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RIGHTFUL INHERITANCE
with the deficiencies in the corner pocket
the crown seems tight and heavy
adult male roles, some new some old
an excess of acceptable identities
reality being an opening
that one pushes their head
and shoulders through
18 years of schooling
and loving
then one day the despair set in
a spoonful turned into a calendar
————the female on full display
Eve nude in all her spiritual deformity
“what thou seest is the whole of the Law”
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perhaps the Flood had nothing to do with water
the Ark floating on the history of heaven
the remembrance
surrendering
children
weeping
(the first angel brave enough to comment on the rusty hinges of Heaven’s Gates)
weeping children
having surrendered
to the yoke of servitude
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no one spoke of the dead birds
thieves that had been shot
ordinary reality
hungry castaways
painful confrontations
the paintbrush of the poet
fruitful material ever so personal
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poetry workshop topic of the day:
Jesus riding a white horse
“The Word of God” riding an animal (?)
it was just too much for me
sweet horse flesh is a delicacy in Heaven
Jesus with no underpants riding a food source
the beginning of mental birth pains
social pain, ecological pain, biological pain
Jesus on a white horse, witness to the victorious war
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Going to that private viewing
of the ‘Last Tango in Paris’ out-takes
was a big mistake.
A private screening for members
of the Equestrian Mafia.
I just can’t get out of my head
that scene with Maria Schneider
in bed eating a horse’s head
belonging to her old Godfather.
She ate it with rosemary, garlic,
. . . and butter, all raw and red.
A French waiter walking down
the cinema aisle, serving champagne,
saw my discomfort and smiled,
saying, “We’ve been doing this
horse flesh thing for quite a while.
Ever since Cain burnt his brother’s
leftovers on the altar of Lost Eden.
Napoleon just could never refrain
from taking a young mare by the reigns
and leader her into the kitchen,
with Josephine salivating to join in.
Monsieur, If you don’t like the movie
you could always go vegan!?
But you’ll need to be strong,
amid the audience’s laughter,
for the Godfather never stops
till he gets what he’s after.”
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RABBINIC INTERPRETATIONS FOR SALE
the children of Kentucky no longer stand by the roadway nude
flagging down traffic for a crumb of bread or a dollar for mom and dad
dressed in white robes by virtue of being washed in the blood of the Lamb
they reek of salvation, salvation from sin and all its dire consequences
a true blessing, miracles beyond the ken of human intelligence
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dockside workers questioning their range of perception
lacking the ability to cleanse their consciences
knee-deep in acts that lead to death
they flag the Devil to remove
the scarlet from their rags
Satan worthy of a delay
an empty promise
an infamous
number
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more than human
less than human
machines hire humans
to mother them
employees once creatures
birds, beasts, and flowers
employees behind veils
of disappointment
making
one dollar
more than nothing
constant poverty
SQUABBLES
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EARLY MORNING DRUGS
AND EVERYTHING BLOOMS
objects of contemplation
exercises in self-revelation
the singleness of everything
the inter-relatedness
tight, sometimes not
people walk around
and then
when the time is ripe
the self-consuming thing arrives
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“I love the smell of medication
in the morning.”
~ Major Tom
Uber Dharma
the founder and head guru
of the disruption industry
has designed a super drone
just for poor pitiful me
He could see I was in need
of breaking free
from the trailer park trash
designated
‘The Cream of Humanity’
after that emergency evacuation
of Planet Earth
But I did succeed in leaving behind
that girl with the perpetual rash
Not a healthy relationship
to undertake aboard a spaceship 🚀🚫
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as I was leaving the party
I caught a whiff of dark humor
Eros was satisfied
a free hand
with a smile
lips from a Hustler magazine
unlike the rest of her
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it was a big root party
everyone attending
was in possession
of a large root
I was aware of the crossing of identities
many comments on the flavors of language
there were images of incest on the wall screen
sex in the childhood home with a theme of rediscovery
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a simple poem
about feet that refused shoes
the doctor called it a pruning knife
precise, decisive, implacably controlled
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constantly being asked about the amount of moisture in the brain
benevolent sex, malevolent sex, deeply ingrained clues
gateways to other realms, pathways to madness
poets ask about sleeping in the dark
romantically sentimental lips
stuck in a goldfish pucker
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poetry compresses, fractures, pulverizes the bones
NASA disperses the dust on the surface of the moon
at some point in time , the seeds from Eden
will grow 50 feet tall
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colors
on a cave wall
menstrual clues
near Bordeaux, France
Bob Dylan with a flashlight
laughing at a monkey’s nuts
“hell Buddy, you and I have the same hairline”
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they say that America was poking fun at the president
had him running around in circles, getting nowhere
his comrades took the contest so seriously
on TV they looked as solemn as possible
back at headquarters out of sight
many a fellow was blowing
bubbles out his bum
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To be forcefully ejected
from the Bubble Kingdom,
or forever be blowing bubbles
out one’s bum, and in the wind?
Mired in daddy issues,
that is the question
Princess Ivanka
of The Cloud People
from the Golden Tower
asked of me.
I told her that
I really didn’t care.
Not until
she set my people free.
She gave me
a glare of cold steel,
as if looks could kill.
I thought to myself
I best beware,
as she slowly took off
with considerable skill
her mulberry silk underwear.
She then exclaimed
with some glee,
“Right or left,
red or blue,
it is us of true worth
who are born to rule.
We tell you what to think,
and we tell you what to do.
So come pay me due fealty
and stuff my ballot box,
you fool.
Step up, and be
my new sugar daddy!”
Needless to say . . .
I ivankard her hard,
and most triumphantly,
being a loyal vassal
of the Golden Castle.
A shower of
her regal power
was my just reward.
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Between the idea
And the reality
Between the motion
And the act
Falls the Shadow
For Thine is the Kingdom
Between the conception
And the creation
Between the emotion
And the response
Falls the Shadow
Life is very long
Between the desire
And the spasm
Between the potency
And the existence
Between the essence
And the descent
Falls the Shadow
For Thine is the Kingdom
For Thine is
Life is
For Thine is the
This is the way the world ends
This is the way the world ends
This is the way the world ends
Not with a bang but a whimper
~ T.S. Eliot
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you wake up in a movie
where the main character
is wearing snug short pants
and has extremely white thighs
he shows you photographs of his penis
clearly having a mind of its own
it seems to be snubbing its tip
at all governing regulations
——WARNING——
that which pokes gentle fun
can initiate a newborn
with a sneeze
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“In the Twilight Erogenous Zone
no one can hear you scream.”
~ Vague Rant, Press Secretary
to the President Elect of Vice.
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Nikita Khrushehev on TV
talking about his turds
having small hands
that were trying
to hold on
——————————-awkward body language
embalmed before death
——————————-poop with intellectual curiosity
afraid to make the drop
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It’s not the drop
it’s the sudden stop
Like a bullet to the head
That’s what JFK got
after all his hard work
He wanted Cuba back
and Fidel Castro dead
Kruschev wanted Jackie
Jackie would’ve rather
slashed her wrists instead
Nikita’s sole aim was
to launch a missile crisis
in her American knickers
He wanted Jackie so badly
She refused the mink stole
She even refused
a golden babushka doll
Till JFK said finally,
“For the sake of detente
give him what he wants.
But first, make that
old commie wind bag beg
till he’s just about to burst,
and then settle
for nothing less
than a Fabergé Egg.”
So …
it was the stoic Jackie
who actually
saved the Planet Earth
from a nuclear holocaust
She somehow came through
and took control
over the Cuban missile crisis
as she sank
that old Battleship Potemkin
with her fulsome loose lips
Her reward . . .
as no good turn
goes unpunished
was to eventually marry
old Aristotle Onassis
To then be left
with an itchy Greek rash
the type sailors get
and a jewel encrusted egg
that no matter how much
she sat upon on it
would never ever hatch
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a lot of talk about poop
when it comes to the log
one must triumph over plainness
the two-legged ones employ clever artifice
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the intense desire to have that love returned
one shoe overly sentimental
the other waiting for the door to open
to escape
heartfelt words in journals
photographs pale
the intense desire to have that love returned
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the fractured representation of himself
a vertical poet
in a horizontal world
the cash money luxuries
the sexual ruggedness
supportive lovers
James Bond
ask for a peek
inside his underpants
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Placebo Town (@)PLACEBO TOWN
the poet hijacked
his lower half
tampered to
death
——–
——–
social confines
no place at the table
gravitational frowns
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“I’ve been ten thousand miles
in the mouth of a graveyard.”
Placebo Town, otherwise
known as Desolation Row,
is where Dylan wrote many
of his most poetic lyrics
He changed the name to
Oxford Town to protect the guilty,
and prevent mass hysterics.
“All these people that you mention,
yes, I know them, they’re quite lame.
I had to rearrange their faces
and give them all another name.”
“Oxford Town, Oxford Town,
everybody’s got
their heads bowed down.
The sun don’t shine
above the ground.
Ain’t a-goin’ down to Oxford Town.”
“I heard the sound of a thunder,
it roared out a warnin’.
Heard the roar of a wave
that could drown the whole world.
Heard one hundred drummers
whose hands were a-blazin’.
Heard ten thousand whisperin’
and nobody listenin’.
Heard one person starve,
I heard many people laughin’.
Heard the song of a poet
who died in the gutter.
Heard the sound of a clown
who cried in the alley.”
Dr. Filth, he keeps his world
Inside of a leather cup
But all his sexless patients
They’re trying to blow it up
Now his nurse, some local loser
She’s in charge of the cyanide hole
And she also keeps the cards that read
“Have mercy on his soul”
They all play on the pennywhistle
You can hear them blow
If you lean your head out far enough
From Desolation Row
Across the street they’ve nailed the curtains
They’re getting ready for the feast
The Phantom of the Opera
In a perfect image of a priest
They are spoon feeding Casanova
To get him to feel more assured
Then they’ll kill him with self-confidence
After poisoning him with words
And the Phantom’s shouting
to skinny girls
“Get outta here if you don’t know
Casanova is just being punished
for going to Desolation Row”
At midnight all the agents
And the superhuman crew
Come out and round up everyone
That knows more than they do
Then they bring them to the factory
Where the heart attack machine
Is strapped across their shoulders
And then the kerosene
Is brought down from the castles
By insurance men who go
Check to see that nobody is escaping
To Desolation Row
Praise be to Nero’s Neptune
The Titanic sails at dawn
Everybody’s shouting
“Which side are you on?”
And Ezra Pound and T. S. Eliot
Fighting in the captain’s tower
While calypso singers laugh at them
And fishermen hold flowers
Between the windows of the sea
Where lovely mermaids flow
And nobody has to think too much
About Desolation Row
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the small town had a portable heart attack machine
it was of no value and often misplaced
death was a welcome guest
many offering a wet kiss
at the front door
(@) souls dropped from the clouds for reintegration
the very limits of physicality
the twins of reality
deconstruction
deterioration
(@) males have a bad habit of merging into one another
Casanova and his famous powers of endurance
warned readers of skinny girls in his prose
testosterone-driven behavior fades
like FM classic rock on the radio
(@) countless pairs of shoes in need of exercise
Casanova often talking to himself
his extension in his hand
“Lord save him
from skinny
girls”
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