Road to Turmoil

into shrouds
of celestine vision
and wrapped up tight
in gowns of where life once was
and now it is here again
flaming this way and that
not knowing why
or when
or how
but tipping my glass in the direction
of girls who play
so soft
and silly
in sunlight's glare
in pastel dresses
barrets pulled up hair
not even one of simple cares
ahhhhhthe little girls that make men
grit their teeth
comb their hair wrong
and smoke their pipes backwards
in the confusion
of a dream
found in the head of
Bing Crosby

Whiskey or Scotch anyone?
It's time to beat the kids

Russian Revolutions: Rasputin

Write it
write it all day long
press on, until those fingers bleed
and drop blood upon
keys of insatiable value
numeric
alpha transference
tic tac
tac tic
again and again
the strings glide on and timpanis shutter
the world of one
trying so hard to grab it
by the strings
of high note splendor
with the mustaches of Greek women in the night
filled with their Orthodox stuffing
catered to by rice
as the harpsichord plucks it's way
into fields with no dampers
no one wants that shit now
not even the orthodox soldiers
finding joy in the grip
of a different calender
time is something
we should
revel in
not
fight

tony stanza

Cry
like little bitches
find a nitsch

Die
like saints abound
with silken wings

Sigh
in what is jotted down
a scribble of non

Fry
to death the nobel
laureate's name

Lie
when oppossed
just like that

Death is a syrup poured over cakes of lime and mahogony and buffed out, polished brass, sunk so deep into the soul of Earth that we all vomit

newport blvd

Small hands grasp
what may or may not be
in pearlescient drops
of reality's drool
like ski jumps of
demise
found on old men's chins
like stubble
but wet and in dire
need of girls to laugh
at what he is
but boys travel about
and in front
of walls
simply labeled
hate
that sums it up.

Tuesday's with the Reagans

child like cries from a world
found in the minds
of men
left on shores looking for ships
ships that never come
men that never come
and cigarette holders
that make the children sick
when they lick them
thinking of candy
and sweets that are not there
in a bowl of hatred
found on grandma's table
waxed for pristine glisten
in a day
when the children
only want their
God damned candy