UNDERDOG
The world will not
Save you this time bright
Bright boy of genius time!
You (with a penny in your shoe)
Are no longer a boy man made
Man of words & non-linear touch.
Hearts and poetry & kisses in the dark,
Soft palace where once time stood still.
-
A EULOGY FOR SLAM:
A WORLD ON FIRE
The true alchemists do not change lead into gold;
they change the world into words.
~
William H. Gass
Saxophone screaming like jazz… morphine
Salvation… running, Thru the streets
To:
Refrain Refrain Refrain To Begin
To End Proceed Repeat To,
Some Where Some Way
Silence.
In Dead Lights And In Hyper-Space
And Unto The Holy Light of the
Last Cash Machine As the
Utopian Prophecy bleeds
Magnificent, Malevolent
In-To Thine Youthful Eyes
Which Hears- Seas
Of Majestic rhymes & urban schemes,
A Salvation… Of Gun Shot Megaphone Deliverance
And Oh Unto Thee, We Deliver Great Hopes Of Miracles… Mercy.
Illuminations
As Thy Cradles Rock Falsely
With The sad Arrogance Of Label Made Kings,
Offering Up All Your Dead sons,
Father, mother, sisters, brothers’ used up Mother-Fuckers
Who have killed the word, & the sound & whole world of grace
Monotonous with
“Hype”
With the smiles of Money Greed Messiahs
Sampling Out Salvation, A Promise,
A Lie, All Their Words Now, Just An Epiphany,
In A “Box”
Moving on down towards South Of Heaven
Non-Transcendence Dead Enlightenment & The Dead Roar Of Time That says
“Nothing”
Nothing.
Fore-wards Back-wards stealing
From All the Lost Poets & the dead dark souls
With a weak childish snarl that says,
“ME’ “MINE”
A place where no philosophers need apply.
With No More Gods To Worship &
No more new myths to create
As The Vessel Sinks, Stinks, Reeks Of Slamming bores
Rhyming Whores for all the same crimes
Yo.
Pants Un-Fit With weak words that will not survive
The Tides Of Time and that shall never ever make it
Unto The Shore.
As one-day they will all say:
Kill Roy was here and he wrote a poem upon the WALL Which said this…
“NOTHING”
Except that he was here.
With his Bling Props No Props No Echo Your Masses Asses Making Hip Gang Signs &
Buying Up Your Video Product
YO.
No Rebels left But Cowards
Who just sing The Song Of Thy Puppet Selves
Little Boys Of Violence
With Little Swords That Cannot &
Will Never Plow The Field Of Men.
Because, with weapon in pants, words are shit.
Who do not mend.
Hip? Gone.
Now amongst us silent
Hop? Dead
The very thought that once we moved thru our veins, living Lost,
Intolerable And MIA
As non-aware un-alive
Follows when time is measured
Monosyllabic and in waning days
For death recurrence
And numbers on papers, not soldiers
Become A Waste Of All That Is-Was Life.
But Can such an Armageddon Accidental circumstances exist?
Life? Made of location and color
When the door of words is finally broken
With All levels un-covered
And Boring sets made of dead set repetition?
No.
Because every man therefore may whisper in the wind, tend to the madness,
up to him-self,
Disappear in thy-self.
No.
That these are all faults because every man therefore may whisper in the wind,
unto the vast world
Which is Now Dead To Others.
Saxophone, screaming
(Once like jazz… morphine salvation running, thru the streets)
A World On Fire , which once said something
The Words
That Mattered
Now All Faded
“Away”
-
A CHRISTMAS IN HELL
Lost luggage
Lost souls
Lost hope
All destinations
Forgotten
This makes
Dante’s Inferno
Sound only half
As bad
But this is only
The first time
That you’ve
Actually ever been
To hell
As the hours
Drag by
And drag on
And as the snow
Continues to fall
Outside
The window
Of the airport bar
And it’s bad enough
To be stranded
It’s bad enough
That the drinks are
All overpriced and
Watered down
And it’s bad enough
To be just another
Drunk business man
In a business suit
Holding a giant
Stuffed reindeer
For a child in your
Hands and then
Having to pass out
On it in the middle
Of a bar.
Lost luggage
Lost souls
Lost hope
All destinations
Forgotten
Once,
If I remember well
My life was a feast
Where all hearts opened
And wines flowed
And now?
It’s shit.
The world will not
Save you this time bright
Bright boy of genius time!
You (with a penny in your shoe)
Are no longer a boy man made
Man of words & non-linear touch.
Hearts and poetry & kisses in the dark,
Soft palace where once time stood still.
-
A EULOGY FOR SLAM:
A WORLD ON FIRE
The true alchemists do not change lead into gold;
they change the world into words.
~
William H. Gass
Saxophone screaming like jazz… morphine
Salvation… running, Thru the streets
To:
Refrain Refrain Refrain To Begin
To End Proceed Repeat To,
Some Where Some Way
Silence.
In Dead Lights And In Hyper-Space
And Unto The Holy Light of the
Last Cash Machine As the
Utopian Prophecy bleeds
Magnificent, Malevolent
In-To Thine Youthful Eyes
Which Hears- Seas
Of Majestic rhymes & urban schemes,
A Salvation… Of Gun Shot Megaphone Deliverance
And Oh Unto Thee, We Deliver Great Hopes Of Miracles… Mercy.
Illuminations
As Thy Cradles Rock Falsely
With The sad Arrogance Of Label Made Kings,
Offering Up All Your Dead sons,
Father, mother, sisters, brothers’ used up Mother-Fuckers
Who have killed the word, & the sound & whole world of grace
Monotonous with
“Hype”
With the smiles of Money Greed Messiahs
Sampling Out Salvation, A Promise,
A Lie, All Their Words Now, Just An Epiphany,
In A “Box”
Moving on down towards South Of Heaven
Non-Transcendence Dead Enlightenment & The Dead Roar Of Time That says
“Nothing”
Nothing.
Fore-wards Back-wards stealing
From All the Lost Poets & the dead dark souls
With a weak childish snarl that says,
“ME’ “MINE”
A place where no philosophers need apply.
With No More Gods To Worship &
No more new myths to create
As The Vessel Sinks, Stinks, Reeks Of Slamming bores
Rhyming Whores for all the same crimes
Yo.
Pants Un-Fit With weak words that will not survive
The Tides Of Time and that shall never ever make it
Unto The Shore.
As one-day they will all say:
Kill Roy was here and he wrote a poem upon the WALL Which said this…
“NOTHING”
Except that he was here.
With his Bling Props No Props No Echo Your Masses Asses Making Hip Gang Signs &
Buying Up Your Video Product
YO.
No Rebels left But Cowards
Who just sing The Song Of Thy Puppet Selves
Little Boys Of Violence
With Little Swords That Cannot &
Will Never Plow The Field Of Men.
Because, with weapon in pants, words are shit.
Who do not mend.
Hip? Gone.
Now amongst us silent
Hop? Dead
The very thought that once we moved thru our veins, living Lost,
Intolerable And MIA
As non-aware un-alive
Follows when time is measured
Monosyllabic and in waning days
For death recurrence
And numbers on papers, not soldiers
Become A Waste Of All That Is-Was Life.
But Can such an Armageddon Accidental circumstances exist?
Life? Made of location and color
When the door of words is finally broken
With All levels un-covered
And Boring sets made of dead set repetition?
No.
Because every man therefore may whisper in the wind, tend to the madness,
up to him-self,
Disappear in thy-self.
No.
That these are all faults because every man therefore may whisper in the wind,
unto the vast world
Which is Now Dead To Others.
Saxophone, screaming
(Once like jazz… morphine salvation running, thru the streets)
A World On Fire , which once said something
The Words
That Mattered
Now All Faded
“Away”
-
A CHRISTMAS IN HELL
Lost luggage
Lost souls
Lost hope
All destinations
Forgotten
This makes
Dante’s Inferno
Sound only half
As bad
But this is only
The first time
That you’ve
Actually ever been
To hell
As the hours
Drag by
And drag on
And as the snow
Continues to fall
Outside
The window
Of the airport bar
And it’s bad enough
To be stranded
It’s bad enough
That the drinks are
All overpriced and
Watered down
And it’s bad enough
To be just another
Drunk business man
In a business suit
Holding a giant
Stuffed reindeer
For a child in your
Hands and then
Having to pass out
On it in the middle
Of a bar.
Lost luggage
Lost souls
Lost hope
All destinations
Forgotten
Once,
If I remember well
My life was a feast
Where all hearts opened
And wines flowed
And now?
It’s shit.
