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Poem
what do you need to be told
to make you capable of pragmatic liberation
which could be the foundation to a new
assessment of the inevitable
darkness is our measure but never our limit
its manic prism reflects everything all at once
while humanity puts its hope in youth
you just have to let the idea hit you
any idea
the reasons are not apparent
and the volume knob has been stolen
by the bureaucrats and ideologues
of an aging retro vista vanguardism
there is such a thing
where the blopatron tubes don't have enough
hipster units to fire up their wrathodes
we need to learn to travel
at the fun rate of progress
flee the immanent human baloonings
of the outrage du jour
served with a nice diesel oil dressing
by the Malpracticing Surgeons Association
no really and truly I  you not
at least that's what my embalmer tells me
and he gets all the latest gospel
he hails from the tribe of bland gossips
miscreants from the Sea of Miscreation
eaters of filth confessing to princely retinues
looking for heroes in all the wrong places
finding them blandly objectionable
graceless tormented loud and inappropriate
and certainly objectionable 
was our gallant caballero
with his Cisco Kid tango hat
and his TV six guns
and his Desert Rose cologne
but he saw things in great detail
too much detail in fact
leading us to the inescapable conclusion
that consciousness is a matter of mapping
a projection capable of emphasis to distortion
what else do you need to know
to keep planet Earth on its tracks
its waves coming on shore at Paradise Island
when the luck broker says toodeloo
on the day we learn to fear our ignorance
on the day we burst the bubble
on the day we run the self-referential gauntlet
and break down the door screaming
I thought you were an ally
even madmen know that they require a sun
to prepare their dish and find their spoon
their priests may have found peace with the Devil
but I have not found peace
with my metaphysical transparency implant
which is a three-toed  to remove
my only advice is to simply stay loose
and avoid those whimsical trips
down Memory Lane
there is a difference between the way things were
and the way you wished they were
but underneath the manholes and storm grates
teeth-gnashingly obvious to the musical ear
the moonlight drums at the Blue Note
keep your metronome sincere
and your ideas will not become a prison
(to be continued)


From "Theater of Utter Charm"
Available on Amazon
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