Las Meninas Placebos
that sacred place
at the crossroads of existence
where piece by piece
Pablo disassembled his muses
upon a wafer of painted canvas
a sculptured vivisection
a patchwork of stained-glass
the transubstantiation
of a new wine frozen in time
the sacrament of broken flesh
a surgeon’s scalpel
the artist’s brush
I followed the money trail
That sap laden root of evil
Through the land of Mordor
To the heights of Mount Doom
Only to discover
Under a shadow of gloom
The dark arts of Sauron
Veiled behind the illusion
Of a philanthropic institution
Euphemistically referred to as
A reproductive health foundation
David & Linda Redpath © 2021
Artwork by Multiple Michael;
https://multiplemichael.wordpress.com/2020/11/14/back-at-headquarters-2/
Artwork by Multiple Michael;
“Religion is for people who fear hell, spirituality is for people who have been there.”
~ David Bowie
For Those Missing In Reaction
In the darkest of jungles
I’ve hunted & collected
black market creatures
spawned from the crooked deals
of the well healed and concealed
criminal classes
riding high with Pablo & Carlos
in an altered cosmos
where the likes of Escobar
is some kind of super star
and heartbroken mothers
are left to clean up the mess
forever counting the cost
M.M.;
——- 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 —
I had just checked in
to the Surfer’s Paradise
Hawaiian Motel
and was defrosting slowly
with a block of black ice
and a bottle of Wild Turkey
when the news broke …
the King of Rock ‘n’ Roll
that Brylcreem Adonis
had gone to meet eternity
He could rhythm & blues
the whole jail house block
at the Heartbreak Hotel
in his blue suade shoes
Elvis “the Pelvis” Presley
He could even
gospel his way
to the edge of reality
Heaven’s pearly gates
now blown straight to hell
A pill overdose?
Or perhaps
a Cheeseburger Deluxe
was the guilty party?
Time will surely tell
as the red neon
of a No Vacancy sign
flickers on
at the Surfer’s Paradise
Hawaiian Motel
“Just keep on walking!”
I saw a werewolf
with a hymn book in his hand
prowling around
as he sniffed the ground
from Jonestown to Gaza
He’s that well manicured gent
some say he is heaven sent
Huh, I’d like to meet his tailor
You can hear him howling
on your television set
Better not turn it on
Little old lady got bitten
late last night
Werewolves of religion again
. . . Ooh Ahh
David Redpath 