Wednesday, November 26, 2008

106. YOUR ROCK/YOUR ROLL

YOUR ROCK/YOUR ROLL
(to a culture gone bad in the teeth)
I could justify your jocularity with the rhythm of
some home-free time : like a wayward John Lennon,
or any one of those tortured rock and roll characters
who seem never to shut up. They really are all the same.
Bragging of their butchered balls, their merciful hearts,
and their laggard lunge to fame and fortune. Such shit,
all the time and everywhere. I can't wait for the repudiation
(which always comes). Like your David Bowie in a young man's
drag - searching the country for a bandmate to blow, trading in
old coins found under the floor, wading chest-deep through
girls and fans and screamers and gents. Dude, take that!
-
They genuflect along the river at night; gobs of babes in
chunky dresses dancing witch-dances to the Goddess of Night.
The Man In the Moon comes down for a fight, or to take
part, or just to stand by and then wane. Cheap astronomy
and all the rest put a good man's fortitude to the final test.
Before it all happens again give me a knife to jab at
your throat. I'm so sick of your vomit.


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