Do you know the worn progress under the Hollywood Sign?
Do you know of the exit?
Have you been trapped in a self-created thrall?
Have you been heard yet
& are you a liar?
Let's invent a new god, a new myth for the coming age
Celebrate bloopers from aging old actors
(a fart sound followed canned laughter)
For seven days
& seven nights
I walked alone
fasting
Weak from hunger
All done to awaken the monster within
Sunday morning comes
Cartoons
danced in my head
like some god dam mad dog
chasing his tail in circles
Are you really watching what's on the television?
Or is the television eye watching you?
How do you live life knowing that your closest friends are
characters seen upon the television screen?
Your babysitter, your teacher, and your friends
are all seen on the same box which stares at you coldly
like some ancient, starving satanic beast
Looking back
T.V. has become a tomb
Tomes of ghostly images
Dancing and singing in black and white
The dead are performing again tonight
on your television screen
Reminding us of what was &
what will be
A dying soldier grasps a photo of his mother
A bomb destroys an old Baptist church
Young children stare wide eyed at some dead clown
as a black politician pats a new born baby on its head
Waving hands in a silent applause
Mad cackling Laughter
A Death Letter
The End
Those who Laugh at Death
Those who cheat it
Those who're sorry
Welcome to the American Nightmare
Where jesters fight
to be heard
out there on the airwaves
in search of fame
in the night
leaving a fresh, puss full
scar &
Left for dead on the Universal Highway
Maggots &
Slugs
The worms &
the bugs
feed upon you & your
stone cold death
sucking you dry
like some starving leech
as you lie on the side of the road
on a hot summers day kill
of The American Nightmare
The maggots &
the faggots
cruise the streets
looking for another
better high &
feed upon the land
sucking you dry &
bringing disease, decay
like a rolling, stoned cold death girl
like a rotting road kill
like this The American Nightmare
Words lie dead on the ground like some bleeding possum
that dragged itself to the curb to die
Alone
to wallow in its pain
We're born to this world alone
& cold
and die the same
About the Creator
Joe King
"Listen, real poetry doesn't say anything, it just ticks off the possibilities." - Jim Morrison
These poems are from my book An American Parody, which is a tribute to the writings and poetry of Jim Morrison.
Comments
There are no comments for this story
Be the first to respond and start the conversation.