It's a Rock and Roll Morning

Unpublished pieces

It's a rock and roll morning. 
Drums and bongos setting off car alarms. 
Dissident people screwing up their faces 
in order to scare 
                      away the psychotic zebras 
                               who were playing naked 
                                                    on the boulevard. 
Impish devils gesturing in circles, 
trying to convince the broken-hearted 
                to get up and join the 
                                hand cream brigade. 
Eat like a warrior and die like a cancer, 
and throw away all the pictures 
                                    of wedding dresses on fire. 
The national mood is one of great discomfort 
                 to the better placed suit and tie people. 
They flap their wings and mouth their assurances, 
facing a growing number of 
                               zipper cloned stains 
which appear like clockwork upon the 
                         jackets of the lame. 

We can end anything. 
             Be anything. 
             Say anything. 
We can drop our pants 
and undo our bowels, 
               shitting out the party line 
                we've been conditioned to believe.

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