He is back
In the flesh
And this time the bones do not laugh . . .
NO MORE TIME FOR DANCING!
NO MORE TIME FOR TIME!
Because these eyes burn oily reality
Searching these hot days
For the Bleeder
And the screamer
From a canvas that just does not play the fool
And in the distance he sees a tower
Of the skull king
With his poster board dragon sleigh
Surrounding himself with laughing savage dealers of death
And drug kingpins;
THE GREASE MONKEYS DRESSED FOR SUCCESS…
BLOODY DRESSED, FRIENDS, FOR 1973
For years the paints have beat black
The brushes have beat blue
No one throws paint at grandeur
The masterpieces of days gone by
God’s gifts...Her pureness is scarlet
... And from the lake of paper lined breathed Excalibur
It shimmers in blackened blood
It shimmers from BLOODY Crimson
This is blood that speaks words which he cannot speak
Because no bones will laugh
At the sky
At the moon
Or at the Rose
Like they did at the last artist
And his Merry Band of Outcasts;
The last Artist Smiled,
AND EXCALIBUR RETURNED...
© Copyright 2016 jmurch. All rights reserved.
Short Story / Humor
Poem / Poetry
Poem / Poetry
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