A Song for Immature Savants

Draconian devils in a pristine shell

amenable shills in a damning hell

predators and parasites

vagabonds to guttersnipes

adulators; sycophants

prime movers and those who can’t

Dressed up, candor in a scarf divine

red sails stir, cloaking past

the silicone and fiberglass

timing’s early, hours late,

pursing fourth’s, contracting fate

                                                      words sung with a torrid force

You want a story

open your eyes

you want drama

fight; survive

you want a hero

that I can’t provide

Mosaics and masquerades

promenades and palisades

chardonnay smiles and bourgeois tears

contemptible intentions reflecting fear

nesting cretin’s scar the pleat

(dilettantes (poor Faberge)) eggless and incomplete

Dressed down, guile to spine, slick corset veiling lines

black-toed, shin to heel, flaming skirt, striking fast

high slit thigh, low draped neck, a fire-flash

breaking down, broken in,

the radio’s deafening, silent din

                                             and we begin again

You want a story

open your eyes

you want drama

fight; survive

you want a hero

that I can’t provide

no, that is something

only you can breathe,

that is, if in yourself,

you choose to believe

  

Bottle Rocket

Bottle Rocket

Siphons property

From your intellect,

Is the web, these

Rabid vixens weave,

Dislocate yourself from

From any framework

Foul in construction,

Run, very far from buildings

Such as these

Invest in sensors,

To alarm you when they change

From lover to savage

From confidant to faux friend,

Distrust any, who only states

An aim to please,

Arm yourself at dawn this day,

If not with Gun and Blade,

Bring the bottle rocket and smoke grenades

This is not the cinema,

You can’t simply close your eyes,

And wish the scary parts away