This is Just My Life

Goodbye, Mr. Jones

           composed not of mere stardust

           but Little Richard, Eric Dolphy

           experimental methodology

           of a cosmonaut who found himself adrift in outer space

Ta-ta, Americana

           flashy psychedelic folk

           polished pristine posh and perfect by

           the British monarch’s hands

           Union Jack tied tight around the Martian DNA

Farewell, albino royal

           cocaine white and emblematic

           onyx eyes as sharp as eagles’

           driven deep in drugged delusions

           dream of Nietzsche realized fully in fantastic Weimar fashion

Auf Wiedersehen, Berliner

           grey, invisible and cryptic

           breathing in the Alpine air

           bearing witness to the barrier

           gorged on Autobahn and big green worlds and minimal expression

Sayonara, somber clown

           whitewashed pessimistic fool

           chasing Columbine forever

           donning garments of a jester, spectral

           sleek persona captured, shackled to the camera lens

So long, entertainer

           singer, writer, well-heeled dancer

           spinning round the record player

           expedited to the acme

           crying like Las Vegas victors with the call of falling quarters

See ya later, metal banger

           detective born in future-noir

           Earthling draped in ragged glory

           terrified of New York City, California, Mississippi

           content to pass away the hours at the sweet millennium’s close

Au revoir, you classicist

           returning to your early passions

           breadth of pallet broadened by

           experience, by life explored, by wisdom gained

           the silver crown of age has graced your heart, but not your head

Thank you, collapsing star

           swan song blown, the sound of jazz

           the cosmonaut set free from lunar pull

           no expletives disguised beneath the censored thumb of grawlix

           no chance, no time to gather up our words and say goodbye

My collar’s dyed most royal blue, My flesh is burned and cracked

     My dreams are locomotives sans the prison of the track

          My wine is viscous Jesus-juice that’s standing on its legs

               I heat My seaside mansion with My burning Rolodex

My womb was walled with velvet

     placenta – gamma rays

          My hand was built to grip the pen

               and terraform the page

My callouses are amulets against demonic forces

     My vertebrae – a cavalry of hard, commanding horsemen

          My ears thrive on a diet of a smorgasbord eccentric

               prefrontal cortex proudly buzzes that the body is electric

My cock – priapic obelisk, ivory and strong

     My heart – a candelabra burning well-before the dawn

          My feet are wings that fly Me over Scylla and Charybdis

               My eyes scry Aronofsky films and fortune in the distance

My tongue is sharp as diamonds

     My smile flashes razors

          My throat is golden bullion

               My words are slashing sabers

My voice can cut down forests so that I can count the rings

     and obliterate the emperors to whom the peasants cling

          I sing in pitches Dylanesque, unkempt and unencumbered

               I inscribe My name – a zig-zagged jolt – like Zeus’s jagged thunder

I only write My novels in the blood of lycanthropes

     My prose’s voltage can’t be measured by oscilloscopes

          My vocabulary brings death down to pilgrims on the path

               let those bumpkins be forgotten when I erase their epitaphs

My mind’s a motherfucking factory that never shuts its doors

     My syntax serves Me well as ammunition in the war

                    to conquer My desires

                    to conquer My destruction

                    to conquer trepidation

                    to conquer My obstructions

My sanity’s debatable and I won’t apologize

           My broken thoughts – the starting gun that inspires Me to strive

                    to conquer My Self-hatred

                    to conquer My addictions

                    to conquer inner darkness

                    to conquer My afflictions

                    to conquer fear of dying with My jeweled cuneiform

OH MAN

LET ME LEARN YOU A THING

AND YET

WE ARE NOW GROWN-ASS ADULTS IN OUR THIRTIES

AND IT STILL GETS QUOTED FROM TIME TO TIME

I HAVE THE WHOLE THING MEMORISED

TO THIS DAY, MY MOTHER REGULARLY SAYS “BUT I AM LE TIRED” BECAUSE OF A VIDEO I SHOWED HER IN FUCKING HIGH SCHOOL