Wednesday, September 07, 2005
another updating ding ding ding ding (read on)
End Times (of Another Soapbox Mantra)
In these times (today) people (all kinds of)
open up (like awaken or re-awaken) their eyes
(rip 'em out their if they can’t) in a flash
of enlightenment (from the Good Book).
Events crumble under a rumble of mortar (eruption of discretion)
headlines jaunt (liberal backwash) by half hearted
individuals (9 to 5ers) over morning coffee.
Prophets (come as politicians) but their seeds
often never grow. Convert (missionary) the immigrants
all muttering about conspiracy (slant media)
no more squiggles on the wall (tick tick tock)
or discrediting notions that bite back.
Revolting revelations (ad campaign) of Armageddon
instead of writing down quotations (just disclaim).
I used to watch the old ladies
squander around in the neon of the Walmart age,
some are angry (machines outdate human skeletons)
My prophet is stammering Bukowski
wailing away on the typewriter.
My bard is Oppen (open to opinions) yelling at O’Hara
(over a bridge of course) the street whispers one name
Berrigan while (my soul) pounded into greater minds.
The light bulb flashes (ding ding) by William Carlos
(Sanchez) rapping over some jittering backbeat
smoking Hashish from Ginsberg (ignore that homo)
beat by the bongo by a drunken Kerouac (meditating, again).
Shot in the head over a poker hand (dirty pair)
by Burroughs laughing from junk. Loathing Mexico City
(Aztec design) a foreign foot race than return to
Hunter’s Owl Farm for Happy Hour (margaritas don’t mix with politics).
I keep searching for my own voice among these fools mumbling
articulate words in my neurotic stutters.
Formation of digression around T.S.’s fascist Jello mold
As salty wounds blister I did not accept or reject any savior.
Jazz keeps on playing through Atlantis witnessing the ruins
(drudge the bottom) of a culture live on CNN, emissions of masturbation
swirl into the bullshit (a fly buzzes around my head).
Get‘er Donne, please state a cultural signification
echoes of literature classes (lost in the sea of nonsense)
redemption found in no education transmission.
Skeletons (barren bone and dust) line the closet
jitterbug cackle warzone (duct tape) as the HP Settermix tape rewinds on my stereo, I still believe I suppose.
In these times (today) people (all kinds of)
open up (like awaken or re-awaken) their eyes
(rip 'em out their if they can’t) in a flash
of enlightenment (from the Good Book).
Events crumble under a rumble of mortar (eruption of discretion)
headlines jaunt (liberal backwash) by half hearted
individuals (9 to 5ers) over morning coffee.
Prophets (come as politicians) but their seeds
often never grow. Convert (missionary) the immigrants
all muttering about conspiracy (slant media)
no more squiggles on the wall (tick tick tock)
or discrediting notions that bite back.
Revolting revelations (ad campaign) of Armageddon
instead of writing down quotations (just disclaim).
I used to watch the old ladies
squander around in the neon of the Walmart age,
some are angry (machines outdate human skeletons)
My prophet is stammering Bukowski
wailing away on the typewriter.
My bard is Oppen (open to opinions) yelling at O’Hara
(over a bridge of course) the street whispers one name
Berrigan while (my soul) pounded into greater minds.
The light bulb flashes (ding ding) by William Carlos
(Sanchez) rapping over some jittering backbeat
smoking Hashish from Ginsberg (ignore that homo)
beat by the bongo by a drunken Kerouac (meditating, again).
Shot in the head over a poker hand (dirty pair)
by Burroughs laughing from junk. Loathing Mexico City
(Aztec design) a foreign foot race than return to
Hunter’s Owl Farm for Happy Hour (margaritas don’t mix with politics).
I keep searching for my own voice among these fools mumbling
articulate words in my neurotic stutters.
Formation of digression around T.S.’s fascist Jello mold
As salty wounds blister I did not accept or reject any savior.
Jazz keeps on playing through Atlantis witnessing the ruins
(drudge the bottom) of a culture live on CNN, emissions of masturbation
swirl into the bullshit (a fly buzzes around my head).
Get‘er Donne, please state a cultural signification
echoes of literature classes (lost in the sea of nonsense)
redemption found in no education transmission.
Skeletons (barren bone and dust) line the closet
jitterbug cackle warzone (duct tape) as the HP Settermix tape rewinds on my stereo, I still believe I suppose.
# posted by Bobby Bobson : 10:16 AM
