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Anti-Poem — “Snaking It To Venice”

(Poet’s Instruction: Play “The End” by the Doors loudly, while reading this anti-poem)

it’s you and me baby inside this gliding duster
this ’74 green plymouth cruising machine blasting
spit fire and gasoline grenades into the LA sun
snaking it to venice on the santa monica freeway
passing pillsbury billboards and green verdigris 
doors music playing loudly on the duster radio dial 

taking us past the santa monica civic auditorium 
our rock pleasure palace under the ocean stars
fronted by the six high dudes straight as spears—
pylons of steel drum solos and marijuana memories
standing upward like skinny giants waiting to eat
hippie dudes and the bongo kings stand out front
polka-dotted chicks smile and pass running joints  

we’re riding the snake babe riding on main street
looking for the rock gods behind beaming glass walls
looking to hear boogie music with the mind jive girls
the van chicks craving a bong hit of columbian gold
looking to groove on organ sonics that weaken you
kidnap you with handcuffs for a ransom of lost time

now jim morrison shimmies into view with a beer
the boys play the end again in 1967 with amps blaring
the vox organ humming out electric mind lacerations 
as Ray Manzarek sits upright again on the melting stage
dig it baby, dig it there are no tomorrows no endings

it’s just you and me baby snaking it to venice beach
passing the dream palaces lit up with phosphorescence 
the sun pole-dancing there doing the cosmic bend-over 
the ’74 duster blasting spitfire and gasoline grenades

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