The vampires were On the offensive Sucking the color and Light from the living. I saw a werewolf chewing On the heart of the century While it's lungs were still Heaving and breathing. He was picking a flea off Big Foot, while smoking a fine cigar, They were riding in the back seat Of Jack Sparrow's stolen car. The jackboots were all taken The armbands were fastened On with A Zee: It is chaos, out there honey, The Gods are shaking the tree. A jealous one eyed yokel Is running a school For the aesthetically blind. He is insincere and he isn't Local; he is queer but the Straights pretend that they Honestly don't very much mind. His factory was open until the Day they shot him down. They say he went down crying "They want me out of this town!" A centaur is galloping wildly Right down to the sloops In San Francisco Bay, They are Byzantine and Wreathed in sweet Eglantine And waiting for Helen of Troy to come out to play. But Helen is getting freaky With Leda's swan down by the docks There doesn't seem to be anything She wouldn't do to for that Hollywood screen siren shot. The cameras are all flickering Recording a thousand shots an hour - Who prefers the mechanical And who lives and dies by the bloody flower; Those who continue to carry on living And who won't breathe to tell... Who is reaching for heaven... And who is choosing to stay on in hell. The days of Leary running acid tests Out on Fisherman's Wharf While the Beats got old and lurked And played with Snow White's Revolutionary hard hitting But friendly dwarves, Are over and rapidly fading But still occasionally twitch and jerk. Their ghosts are old and gnarly But they continue to hang out and lurk And watch as munibus day trippers Berate Harley-riding Legendary Thompsonian One percenter hacks who Wheelie down the hills With all the freedom That the rest of them seem To not miss, but sorely lack. It is quite the show but Nobody real can afford To buy a ticket. Besides, they sell out in A fairytale minute. The Powers don't do Anything useful with the Images they steal: They exist only to be minted Pressed and keyed - Worthless frippery - while Someone else is missing a meal. The rich run around buying Sick NFT's of the poor Bleeding all the red that They have left to bleed. But don't worry the bubble Will burst: It is insanity while there Is so much longing and need. And the moon it rises slowly Over the horizon, over the hills But it is not made of cream cheese: It is piled high with pills. The dark side is concocted From the boot scrapings, Of Texan border Kings, And the junkies will be glad for them. Beggars can't be choosers, you see. Someone has a missile that can Destroy an entire land, The rich have a way to Evade them, while the rest of us Have yet to come up with a plan. Iron Man's space lasers are ready To shoot that missile down, But instead they are aimed at Overpriced electric cars Sold to the rich By Krusty the Klown. They run on bucking bronco Reactors, that occasionally Hemorrhage death, I have a sneaking suspicion that Tomorrow is certain less and less. Homer Simpson Buys more junk stock but fails To find anything that He can afford to eat, He would prefer a Hamburger, but ends up Sniffing a rich man's Impossible meat. As long as Homer has internet He is fine with starving for now, His wife is wearing a knock off Amazon evening gown. She figures she might as well look pretty If she is going to have to live in a In a glowing toxic mess. Her hair is unconditioned, The dog is humping on her dress. She is pretending to ignore it, She can't stop it happening anyway, The men have outlawed propriety And the Patriarchy is here to stay. Homer figures there will always be Twinkies in this apocalyptic World wide outpouring of distress. He ignores his rumbling belly And heads off to search for new Tweets in the nest. But a man cannot live on Entertainment alone. He takes pity on his wife And wrestles the dog for a bone. A couple of orcs are telling Jokes to the emotionally unstable. They would leave behind the insults But they paid ten thousand Dollars a table. Persephone is mourning The loss of her glory days But her looks are already fading And she has been eating the Magic creeping purple haze. It leaves her hot and shaking Pondering ethics and rights and wrongs: There is always Betty Ford for when The trip has gone on too long. She is jawing with Kublai Khan About a business opportunity. While cousin Genghis is moaning - He has been drained Of his last drops of His masculine vitality. When a man's only legacy is Procreation and war It is wise to avoid him Before he drags you To the door. It's murder out there, Angel. It's all about control, Life is slowly dripping Down another gaping hole. I put to bed all the fairytales I've laid all the monsters to sleep I fear we are on the verge of dying And there is no time left to weep. It is chaos and it is control It is a party down at your house It is wild and it is weeping And threatening to go Out as quiet as a tiny Nuclear- mutated mouse. It is a modern revenge tragedy Playing out in fury and sound. It is order to the nth degree And anything is allowed. A fire sale is happening on our Experiment in representative Capitalist democracy. I hope that we can win the War, but how can you fight What you can't see? The systemic torturers and Practitioners of cruelty Leverage their assets and Put a price on loyalty. But the slavering masses Are starting to sell short - They are starved of education. And Everyman has become A gun slinger for bread But claims to be saving the nation. The rich, they have my eternal scorn: They figure once their world is done They can live inside their heads and The only way to feed the prosperous Living is by making the majority Of us bloody doornail dodo dead. And everything has got strange But that is not the issue. I am looking for sandwich But end up sucking on A shea-butter infused tissue. The Fisher King Is smoking crack down on Skid row with Cinderella, She is watching a woman Called Dink who is rocking Mary Poppin's broken black umbrella. If you listen closely, she might Have a word or two. She told me to duck and roll Because she has seen some Crazy shit go down Around here too. I enquire about her husband But she has not seen him Since Nineteen hundred and Nine I break a loaf with her And pour her a glass of wine. I tell her that in my time Some white dude has stolen her song. She looks and me and shakes her head And tells me the Kingdom won't be long. She asks me if I'm experienced Or if I am just playing. I answer that the night comes down On most broken women praying. She cautions me against bitterness She plays a fine guitar, I would love to have That kind of dignity But I am about to hop onto The next high rolling Doomed city street car, And as it rolls off down Annihilation Hill She sends a thought Rolling after me, She bowls it at my brain. Her eyes are full of the sorrow Of generational pain. There is no potion to Fix it, no shot, no draught No pill. I catch the thought as It passes. It reads: "We are all just simply souls Trying to outlive Some madman's oil spill." It is about chaos and control And en-masse destruction, It is a grand performance A top tier puzzling production. There is a fire that's burning In the heart of every living soul And I am not about to go down With them: Survival is my goal. (From the news desk of Detroit Richards, May Day 2022)
Quite the fairytale…hope you had a good May Day.
Did you do anything nice? We watched baseball and ate too much.