I
Friday.
Blasé vibes.
Sittin’ snug as a ladybug
On a sticky city busstop bench
‘neath a soggy-eyed sky;
Sniffin’ the awkward stench
Of afternoon rush hour smog
Peppered w/ a smidgeon
Of what use to be America’s
virescent innocence
Two centuries or so ago.
Barnacles gradually grope m’brain.
I feed a boogying pigeon –
Mon only amigo this day –
Lackadaisically as a loaf of bread,
Half amused, half confused,
Half ready to just light my own fuse
& BOOM.
Together w/ cardboard ears a droopin’
We listen to the FM static
of local numbskull muggles
Who struggle t’juggle joy, boredom
& sexual frustration
& their earnest attempts
To rev their exhausted engines,
Chicken-squawking the occasional
Damnation to God.
Damn fools… We ain’t so different, Quincy, IL.
Here, the “struggle”
Makes mucky everyone’s mood:
Their mouths like miserable horseshoes,
Speakin’ yucky and spittin’ rude
& faces cracked-out & splittin’ dry as a lakebed;
jubilant auras probably once sticky-sweet as fudge,
Alas, now reduced t’some doo-doo dread
By their midlife catastrophe’s grueling grudge;
& of course, on every corner store’s curb’s
the resentfully sober, insomniac’s eyes
W/ sockets as sunk ‘n’ swarthy as the moon’s
Relentless gaze – O what phlegm from egregious tales
He could cough up of this town…
Is this all we’re to expect in this life?
Or are we the unfortunate antagonists
Of a prelude to an even greater
Chapter in the Book of Man,
Overlooked, insignificant as a flyleaf?
Or are we merely being revised?
God, help us! Alla, Vishnu,
Even the Spaghetti Monster’ll do!
Damn doldrums! Where art thou, Mr. Mojo Risin’
For another sexual exodus?
I want to scream ‘n’ shout!
I’m truly tryin’ not to go bananas,
But this city life is too corrosive,
And, alas, I can’t remember home…
II
Saturday.
O how I’ve idolized
These origami skies
Greedily gormandized
By my googly eyes.
Quincy’s Sistine Chapel. The clouds -
Those clouds -
magi on a pilgrimage
Mingling suavely among azure,
pink & purple cotton candy horizons
Majestic just enough t’needle prick ‘n’ sedate
My nomadic noggin
Always smokin’ shorts & sneakin’ shots
‘neath their sovereign cinema;
Silent flicks of fluff
Sweet-talkin’ slick even the most arid ‘n’ tough
of imaginations.
O splendidly magnanimous nimbus,
Like a toddler again I’m mollycoddled
By your amorphous mojo revamping
the ethereal thrillers:
A presumably vegan St. Michael
Severs Hannibal Lecter
In half w/ his butter knife…
A postpartum depressed Mary w/ her makeup smeared
offers her newborn up to the Father…
Adam w/ eyes rolled & a dangling ear
Yearns for his rib back…
David challenges Goliath,
Only this time w/ a Colt 45… etc…
O and Moses isn’t a fan of
Tasmanian devils, says they cuss too much
& thinks the Dali Lama is some sort of homosexual camel.
The entire city dissolves
In a blessed blur of balderdash.
I’m drifting… I’m dreaming…
My happiness is redeeming…
Bohemian obbligatos blossom
Throughout discombobulated thoughts
As instrumentally rich as The Beatles’
Srgt. Pepper’s Lonely Hearts Club Band…
I am the eggman and the walrus,
And the elephant, the crocodile drunk,
The loquacious giraffe, the redolent skunk,
The triathlon sloth, the booty-licious baboon,
The karaoke alley cat, & the Byron buffoon…
My pride is championed by the peacock.
My prudence by the crow.
My loyalty by the dog.
My manners by the llama.
My flamboyance by the flamingo. etc. etc.
My etc. by the sasquatch.
I’m learning to forget
And let my future flow;
Let go, let go to all I know…
How else shall I survive myself yet?
III
Sunday.
I’ve had enough of this expectational
Hocus-pocus, lost every which way
Up & down & kitty-catawampus
each rundown, red-lit street.. I can’t focus;
So tired of feelin’ like some monster society
dismisses like discounted rotten meat:
a bum, a boozer,
the Pierrot of skid row abusers.
Pardon me t’even consider shaking your hand,
Mr. Pedestrian... How atrocious
I want t’dive right into that
Dionysian land,
destined t’swim amongst pure zodiacs:
cosmic eyes, no masks, souls scaldin’.
& O how I want no humanity left
On my wicked scales when I resurface.