The streets are full of madmen
The bedrooms they are too
After hours of internet p..n
What do you expect? What do…
The kids carry guns
Challenge their arrogance
And they’ll kill you too
The madhouses have been emptied
No funds to house the insane
Waiting lines are crawling all over the city
Snaking in tangled descent into Hell’s reign
The cemeteries are ready to open their tombs
The dead will come to meet the mad
In a sanguine ceremony of riot and wounds
I see the coffins open
I see straight jackets flying like sails
Over dark rivers of blood
Splashing out in the tempest gales
I speak to myself “Put on the amour of God’s holiness
Stand against the schemes of Hell
Against the schemes of authority’s unwinding deceitful spell”
Shipwrecks are following from fraudulent choices
One upon another, upon another
Crashing against the rocks of eternity
Amidst the exploding noise of drunken whores' voices
All are drowning in self- made poison
Flowing for centuries from sick societal breasts
Sinking with hearts of stone into a deadly bottomlessness
Even as I prepare my departure,
Boys of tomorrow, I think of you.
I'm leaving behind for you
What I inherited from the departed,
Lest I become like a rock
Which knows not its children.
Take heed dear ones, someday,
You'll face your meekness,
The enemy inside you,
When you set out to win a damsel's heart.
I know nothing about
Matrimony of salt and sea.
But,
I don't consult a haruspex either,
To foretell the stage-fright
You're destined to suffer from,
While you express your love.
I don't wish to frighten you.
But,
Take my word lovers of tomorrow,
Many romancing stalwarts
Had been spirited away to madhouses
By spirits of vineyards
While they struggled to say
The sweet sentence.
In the ancient days of our land,
A customary bouquet, made of two flowers:
Mimosa blooms tucked in between
Petals of a butterfly ginger lily,
Was offered to one's dream girl,
In lieu of words.
If she wore it behind her ear,
While her bewildered eyelashes fluttered,
Like a bird after the rain,
It was yes.
The otherwise had fatal ways.
I ask you
To inherit the ritual.
But,
Plant the flowers first.
For you'll be needing a lot.
the madhouses of paris filled with retired teachers
got their point across
song of waterloo
this napoleanic labyrinth stearing
children to the brink
madame martina martini
academia nuts cracked open wide
I see a few on the cliffs of burndom
harping their humdrum at the gods of charred sea eternity
and wonder about the love they made
I had a visitor yesterday,
a lady driven crazy by her husband ...
he has the kids, she has the road...
in and out of institutions, madhouses..
she is getting crazier now, than she was last visit...
we talk and drink wine ...
a faded rose now this time ...
and im sorry but shes drifting on the tide...
a disillusioned bride ...
life is less than divine...
till the next visit ...inside,
i know death might release her this time,
it's on her mind...
Morning stubles off in near slumber
as Afternoon finally comes over.
I am still sleepy.
My heart beats quickly
as I lose my balance halfway
down the stairs, catch myself
on the wooden rail,
and continue down to the couch.
Charlie Mingus is on with
Better Git it in Your Soul.
The room smells of dead tobacco
from smoking periodically throughout the night.
I tossed, turned, struggled
to keep my eyes shut.
It did not help,
but it makes insomnia more bearable.
I light one more, walk to the window.
I watch the February 16th snow
as it drizzles, gusts,
then drizzles as the wind dies down.
The snowflakes begin to swarm
in a mad flurry
as they scurry
to join their brothers atop marble heaps
on the ground.
The wind seems puzzled.
The snow close to the window
hurls to the earth going
diagonally to the left,
and further, to the right.
I think of all the others
who approach the same sight
at the same time.
That's all we truly need in life,
an occasional moment
of clarity, serenity
to keep us from the madhouses.
Amen.
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