89 this month, the Bulls’ owner has no clue
who to trade or what to do
The product out there now on the floor
worth less than a syphilitic whore
Gave away the team’s brightest stars
rest of the league’s passing out cigars
Made Old, Slow Joe Biden look sharp
He should have left with MJ* – at the top
Jerry Reinsdorf, if you don't call it quits
At you, Bulls’ fans are itching to spit
*Michael Jordan, who left the Bulls back in 1998
Moss grows on the old gravestone
mooring itself into the moribund marble
spreading like a syphilitic rash
garbling the name in shades of green
the velvet glove of a thief
slowly stealing the identity
of the dead buried below
The blurred image of a willow tree
all one can still see
engraved in the soft stone
weathered by more than a century of rain
No one remains
to miss them
to mourn them
to wistfully stare at an empty chair
erased from history
as if they never existed at all
whoever they happened to be
Painted were her eyes,
Somewhat azure and syphilitic, her heart;
And when I got home I realized,
I'd just fallen in love with a tart(!)
Sun in Your Eyes.
In the white sea of sun bleached straws
I saw a crow struggle, go under drowning
In the glare of sun heat and the end
of everything I was given the chance to
see, feel and intimately know.
An eddy of heated water was running down
the drain the wrong way hotter than lave
This must be hell and I ran away from
the struggle of the past and present dancing
in obscene sexuality in the shadow
under a carob tree... and I heard the raw
laughter of syphilitic whores mouths’
like gaping sore and a road of rotting teeth,
but I hear music to and am salvaged by a crow.
Sun in Your Eyes.
In the white sea of sun bleached straws
I saw a crow struggle, go under drowning
In the glare of sun heat and the end
of everything I was given the chance to
see, feel and intimately know.
An eddy of heated water was running down
the drain the wrong way hotter than lave
This must be hell and I ran away from
the struggle of the past and present dancing
in obscene sexuality in the shadow
under a carob tree... and I heard the raw
laughter of syphilitic whores mouths’
like gaping sore and a road of rotting teeth,
but I hear music to and am salvaged by a crow.
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