glisando - today's poem (and my very slight homage to Peter Frampton)

glissando

 

again Pete plays an inescapable tune

and I begin to see time as an ocean

great green and surging with foam

 

now I know that a world conquered

inevitably lost again washes away

what Django hath wrought

Everything Must Be Paranoia and Destruction - today's poem

Everything Must Be Paranoia and Destruction

 

Someway I avoid reincarceration

place one shoe aloft then another

keep down my head avert my eyes

traverse shadows and streetlights

dodge officials on sidewalks

as their mountain aeries go volcanic

 

I’m not paranoid.  They’re out to get me!

They see me as cattle; a cash cow, in fact

expendable – my death none of their concern

Vistas before me are clear and bright

until it cuts into their heathenish profit

then their pretty blimp goes down in flames

 

Political prison dreams started at age 19

I languished in jail cells slowly flooding

as laughing hyenas poked me with clubs

in the brilliant sunlight of mid-day

of my endless sentence in a cold stone jail

while their ocean liner shipwrecked and sank

 

Where do I get the idea that I am at liberty

peeping through my cell bars into the gloom

The jailhouse rocks as though in an earth quake

as hyperborean sun glows here at midnight

and clouds roll ominous stormy and black

until all their high rises crumble and crash

 

As foot-thick walls come falling in on me

I feel like a true cyborg Butch Cavendish

but bad guys who thought I was a friend

trust me to back them in every fight

while I stage a break from Minooka State

while bosses’ silver rockets burst aflame

Meanwhile - today's poem

Meanwhile

 

in the Garden of Eden coloring book

with pencils and pastels I listen intently

to Gris-Gris Dr John’s first album

before a woozy late night poetry zoom

 

van Gogh is perched on my shoulder

while I reconsider life’s expanses

and inspect a lifetime of inner travel

silliness, drama, circumspection, noise

 

Staring eyes of pale sanitarium blue

calm and placid like a mild summer day

Vincent mumbles as elsewhere tides roll in  

whispers Don’t take any wooden nickels

 

Blackened beneath buckled maroon skies

small boats and battered dinghies struggle

as gray-blue hulls chop into a fog green sea

in a rainless yet stormy and violent scene

 

Remember the horseback leather clad police

in Planet of the Apes and toss a tie-dye frisbee

wondering could they hit it with their rifles

in the verdant forest encircling the garden

 

What now, Vincent?

today's poem - the furrow

the furrow

 

to a chorus 9f werewolf song

yoke your ox

under a shattered sky of dreaming stars

at midnight in the holy see

plow past reckoning and pilgrims

over forgotten fields trailing cloudlike

beyond moonlit boondocks

slow and lonely

in time’s snowy avalanche

join the procession

Today's poem - "O Fire Engine"

O Fire Engine

sing your siren circles

shine, scarlet streak

save someone’s child

quench the fire tonight

ladder-men leaning high

we believe in you

your storm rolling

into the arms of danger

is the nexus of fear

and love

as flames leap high

Red - today's poem

Red

I read a true account of subconscious lycanthropy

authored by a famous ex werewolf

somewhere in the future

who was cured by an android Druid (an Andruid)

 

The therapy required moonbeams, oak burrs, mistletoe, wolfbane, chants,

squirrel sacrifice, ventilators, and hyper-vectored digital graphics

-or some such thing

cleverly combining shtick and religion

 

No longer a werewolf I could enjoy non-homicidal pursuits like skiing

wrote the former wolf-man (a college drop-out and dog trainer)

matter-of-factly

furthermore, I could listen to Pink Floyd without reverting to bestiality

 

Uncle Red said That’s some dingleberry boo-shit, boy!

But I established it to be veritably verifiable

by conducting my own research (and such-like)

on the internet

 

but Red held that the Andruid would not be involved

and would instead lead world armies in vicious wars

and conduct pagan blood rituals beneath ruby beacons

in hyperpolysyllabicisquepedalianistic fashion

 

Well, fair enough

 

 

Microsuburbanism - today's poem

Microsuburbanism

 

Teeny bikini girls serve nano doctors booze

Bookkeepers crunch environmental impact numbers

Rubes gape at green stamp-size squares

 

Each microverse Golf Hamlet saves a million lives pronounces the billionaire philanthropist video

This is Country Club Living at its smallest!

 

Beautiful tree lined lots with golf course views        

are conveniently located in a City of Patriotism -

scientific capitalism fully realized and shrunken

 

Our park is a peaceful, rustic, and safe community

offering invisible golf course living

at a price point you can’t afford not to pay

 

Maximization via minimization diminishes souls

to create a reliquary milquetoasted to infinity

in green golf-tog amber lifelike dioramas

 

Although frolicsome sub-microscopic chipmunks

who chat in near-imperceptible hedges

relish their Lilliputian Rodentia

                           the future has collapsed