To |
Acco, Achelois, Aegialeia,
Aganippe, Alcmena, Alcynoe, ALPHITO |
|
| by Michael Blakeley |
| Left hand |
|
Right Hand |
Left Hand
Polly Wants Crack
The birds outside sing
eclectic songs,
Bits of muzak from telephone lines.
Bluejays breathing
atmospheric bongs
Nest in couples and heterodynes.
The sparrows screwing
on Interstate Five
(And why aren't we doing the same?)
Know what matters
while they're alive
And
free from the freedom chain's claim.
Swooping through icicle daisy fields,
The
most blissed will synthesize song
As sperm of opium warps and yields
Green
money-pitched tunes about phong:
We're watching the mescaline
sunclipse
And the avian heroin trips.
While water walked down flame-striped walls
the fog hovered
over the mist around his head. He was dead.
Red lights and screaming sirens
were
And noises were
but he did not dance, did not burn the flesh of
dead fellow-beings
did not greet them.
He was dead.
Hard hands arranged
ash and cremated tress that once sheltered
a gasoline god in an alcove,
but the theme
had changed.
He was dead.
New ideas, new dreams, in-theme, then, opposing dreams were taken
shaken
waken to a brand-new world and ancient sun
above the soft white
flesh of my brave love. Hand in glove.
He was dead.
The wind came glad
and sad and bad and mad and carried waves
across my sea; my burning effigy and
grave scatter shatter.
Alabaster fragments of mind and mine.
Tadpoles
laughed. He was dead.
Love and peace, subspecies specie sold by weight. Stone
umbrellas
for acid rain
relieve the pain. See what remains:
is he dead?
Young Life
Cars
are burning on the street,
Cars are burning feel the heat.
Who began
this immolation?
Who began our isolation?
Barbaric and untrained as yet
--
Rebellion from the new jet set.
Hop the beat, hear the tale,
Who
made anarchy for sale?
Waiting in a public station,
Staring at the new creation;
Who
was forced to misbehave?
Who created seventh wave?
Staring
at my generation,
Staring at
my own creation,
Staring through a crystal eye --
Staring, staring, who
am I?
Burning bombs
Falling from the sky
Mustard gas
All that we
could buy
We don't care about the pain we cause,
Don't give a damn for international
laws.
Breaking faith
We're a world power
Talking tough
Guarding
our own tower
Who could ever hope to turn us back?
They all
retreat whenever we attack.
One more king
One more fallen throne
Counterstrike
Cut
us to the bone
Fight
the good fight while our world roasts --
We don't care, at least
we've proven our boasts.
Mister
Sloane
Mister Sloane is out tonight,
He's looking for
a girl to fight.
He'll wrestle her onto the ground,
And then she'll see
just who she's found.
Mister Sloane, he likes the stars;
He wishes he
could fly to Mars.
He'd find himself a Martian maid,
And then they'd wrestle
in the shade.
Mister Sloane doesn't like lawyers,
Mister Sloane
doesn't like preachers,
Mister
Sloane doesn't like condoms;
Mister Sloane is a very, very funny man...
Left
alone, this strange old man
Finds his fun where he can;
Let's
follow him when it gets dark
And watch him wrestle in the park.
Mister
Sloane doesn't like whistles,
Mister Sloane doesn't like judges,
Mister
Sloane doesn't like policemen;
Mister Sloane is a very very funny
Mister
Sloane is a very very funny
Mister Sloane is a very very funny man.
Left-Handed
Ursula was a city of smiles
On the
edge of a placid harbor;
A beautiful girl in beautiful styles,
She was
looking for adventure.
I sailed my ship, I sailed my heart,
To her from
the home of the brave;
She
took my love and she tore it apart,
She scattered my pain on the waves.
Returning,
I tried to hold her close,
And told her the tale of my journey.
But
her smiling lips withheld my dose
Of her love, and she set me free
To
drown in my own self-pity and pain,
To silently drive me insane.
What
green-clad
Unholy Triad
Walks in twilight towards me,
Drinking blood
And
tracking mud
In Demeter's granary?
Three bold men
Spewing semen:
Mammon,
Smintheus, and Mercury.
Narrow lips
And narrow hips,
They
boast and laugh, but nervously.
From Father
They stole thunder
To throw
at the roots of Her tree.
A curse upon my enemy
-
May Hera rot his seed!
May
Hecate and Persephone
Lap up his life as he bleeds.
May death be shredded
in his bowl,
And lightning strike his grave;
May Charon cheat him
of his toll,
And leave his soul to rave.
O Goddess, blow into his
face,
As I throw wisps of straw.
May he be eaten by the Dog,
Lest he see
what Smintheus saw.
Masturbating
on the highway,
Jerking off in my car -
I've got two
hundred horses underneath the hood,
And you can blow me if I go to far.
My
right hand slides down to my crotch
As the needle climbs up the gauge.
The
gas pedal slams down on the floor;
I'm in a red-hot driving rage.
I'll
come up on your ass at ninety,
Blow my horn hard in your ear.
I'll
pass you in the right-hand lane,
Leave you deaf, dumb, and blind with fear.
I
pass cars like they
were standing still,
And don't you know that I never look back;
The CHP
can't go as fast as me -
I only watch for a frontal attack.
O fish in loco parentis,
Who bravely
guards his wards!
See how they sleep in sober peace,
In stone cells on bare
boards.
The bottles flew in pagan times,
But now the dregs are dry.
No
one now has use for limes,
Nor
salt, nor starry sky,
And can you now the laughter hear,
That
last year filled this field?
The field is empty now of cheer,
And all
our lips are sealed.
Today the bottles sleep behind
The locks of old,
rich men
Who laugh with others of their kind,
Who lie to their children.
The
still is empty, the pipes are cold,
And fruit rots on the tree;
The
fish still drinks his brine, I'm told -
Who'll drink his blood with
me?
©1984,1985,1986,1987,1988,1989,1990,1991,1992,1993,1994,1995,1996,1997
Michael Blakeley