Friday, August 06, 2004
Star
Hey baby, we'll make you a star.
KaBoom! You'll be everywhere.
Not right away; it takes time.
If time is infinite
and matter lasts forever,
then where does all the energy go....
Parched musicians leaping off of cliffs
soiled underpants make a break for the subway,
tousled hair races up ivy trellises.
Water's everywhere, let's have a bath
mathematicians count on limbo-dancing aftermath
of incalculable energies, prime fantasies,
inexhaustible treasure troves of irises and sunflowers
to the ends of the earth, from the loin of a gun
pissed on by tantric monkeys counting the names of God,
next door to the room of monkeys with typewriters
unable to write, unable to make sentences
out of the chaos of letters and typing machines,
smashing the state when the cartoons stop throwing themselves
over cliffs with anvils, out of planes with buttercups,
into clouds with smiles of lust for aged cheeses
and ponds of mulled wines, surrounded by banks of alabaster thighs
perched upon the shoulders of crazed porcupines
ejecting quills into the eyes of skunks evicting their sense,
to die on the streets:
The streets are the human concentration camp bedrooms,
for the unwashed, the uncoiffed, the desperately exploited;
make me a star, KaBoom! rock-a-bye baby a million miles to go,
oh! a million more miles to go. oh! go go go.
Dancing in gorilla skulls rhinoplasty aftertaste
mastectomy survivors in bombed out crab shells
pelted the streets sideways, moistening traps with
pills swallowed hard through dense pathways,
plaqued masses of dendrites, missing assemblies of blind acolytes
terse versions of Joyce's Ulysses sung late at night.
shantytowns erupt with mucous and dodecahedral stalagmites,
stick it! up your ass, baby, I'm going to make you a star.
Caw; Caw; Boom; Boom!
she was found by crows with guns swaying from their hipbones
in the swamp outside of, where, town used to be.
craters send out salami sandwiches to write history books
about monkeys unable to speak english, spanish or hoodoo
to gurus on smack!
Industrial templates illuminate tablets of glass
and plastic, shaken clean by baboon maids
in PVC uniforms, cleaning out a pig's trough, filled up
with absinthe grunting tins of monkey meat,
beating doors down for human meat,
frying slabs of Hilton's offspring for a novel taste treat.
ejaculate moist, you'll feel younger for years.
The latest in a long line of sophisticated tricks
to deter the mass from finding the great hoard.
No tickets needed, only the location and the time
to get there and stay.
Stay-laced, your time's paced, your adolescent joie de vivre
has taken out ads to be replaced, with parchment rinsed
in barrels filled with amazement and monkeys full of entertainment.
Give me your weak, your blind, your lame excuses, your insane
and I'll fill the streets with them.
Rejoice! The solution is at hand; I have a gun!
KaBoom! You'll be everywhere.
Not right away; it takes time.
If time is infinite
and matter lasts forever,
then where does all the energy go....
Parched musicians leaping off of cliffs
soiled underpants make a break for the subway,
tousled hair races up ivy trellises.
Water's everywhere, let's have a bath
mathematicians count on limbo-dancing aftermath
of incalculable energies, prime fantasies,
inexhaustible treasure troves of irises and sunflowers
to the ends of the earth, from the loin of a gun
pissed on by tantric monkeys counting the names of God,
next door to the room of monkeys with typewriters
unable to write, unable to make sentences
out of the chaos of letters and typing machines,
smashing the state when the cartoons stop throwing themselves
over cliffs with anvils, out of planes with buttercups,
into clouds with smiles of lust for aged cheeses
and ponds of mulled wines, surrounded by banks of alabaster thighs
perched upon the shoulders of crazed porcupines
ejecting quills into the eyes of skunks evicting their sense,
to die on the streets:
The streets are the human concentration camp bedrooms,
for the unwashed, the uncoiffed, the desperately exploited;
make me a star, KaBoom! rock-a-bye baby a million miles to go,
oh! a million more miles to go. oh! go go go.
Dancing in gorilla skulls rhinoplasty aftertaste
mastectomy survivors in bombed out crab shells
pelted the streets sideways, moistening traps with
pills swallowed hard through dense pathways,
plaqued masses of dendrites, missing assemblies of blind acolytes
terse versions of Joyce's Ulysses sung late at night.
shantytowns erupt with mucous and dodecahedral stalagmites,
stick it! up your ass, baby, I'm going to make you a star.
Caw; Caw; Boom; Boom!
she was found by crows with guns swaying from their hipbones
in the swamp outside of, where, town used to be.
craters send out salami sandwiches to write history books
about monkeys unable to speak english, spanish or hoodoo
to gurus on smack!
Industrial templates illuminate tablets of glass
and plastic, shaken clean by baboon maids
in PVC uniforms, cleaning out a pig's trough, filled up
with absinthe grunting tins of monkey meat,
beating doors down for human meat,
frying slabs of Hilton's offspring for a novel taste treat.
ejaculate moist, you'll feel younger for years.
The latest in a long line of sophisticated tricks
to deter the mass from finding the great hoard.
No tickets needed, only the location and the time
to get there and stay.
Stay-laced, your time's paced, your adolescent joie de vivre
has taken out ads to be replaced, with parchment rinsed
in barrels filled with amazement and monkeys full of entertainment.
Give me your weak, your blind, your lame excuses, your insane
and I'll fill the streets with them.
Rejoice! The solution is at hand; I have a gun!
