Poem #2

Silvery drops of aqueous clouds
Cover up the largest of life’s darkest shrouds
And distort the view of the
Factory worker’s greatest masterpiece
When the meringue mixer slices through one’s hand
And the luthiers are all tellin’ you
Just bury it into the sand
The dropper seemed to be his only silent friend
And the collagen seems to broken to mend
The parrot is his greatest enemy
The lemon rain is fallin’ all over the stairs
The picture hangin’ across the room
Has twisted itself into a madman’s greatest illusion
A perpetual contusion
The coin collector’s worst confusion
That seems to have left him in permanent seclusion
Standing perfectly straight
Like the mauling victims’ crunched bones
Living with Thomas Jefferson in a big, glass dome
Always waltzin’ around
Still lookin’ for a home
Singin’ what he knows about palindromes
The urban nomad
Eatin’ nothing but graham crackers
And sleepin’ in an alabaster bachelor pad
He’s constantly slippin’ in and out of dreamland
A slave to the needle shoved through his hand
Floating on a cloud with cotton in his mouth
Shouting obscenities at the praetorians that pass him by
Pounding on the drum in the deepest part of the slum
The beautiful red and blue women are singin’
Rushing up the road
Shriekin’ his name as they move through the collegiate masses
Pickin’ up everyone they pass on the way
Tryin’ to make sure everything stays okay
He’s sleepin’ on the sidewalk next to skinny sex addicts
His notebook full of manic travels
His mind full of memory of horrific sights from the very depths of the corona of the desert sun
The calendar seems to have eluded him under the bar
Don’t worry, boy
The manager says you can sleep in the car
Everyone he passes by on the bus
Wearin’ powdery black suits
Singin’ come and be one of us
All that he recalls is the painful, burning embrace of his reused mistress
The source of his unrest
He’s become the sheriff’s distinguished guest
The heart’s most vile incest
Becoming most depressed
Gone in the moment of most horrible distress
In the morning in his tiny, concrete cottage
All they’ll find is a pure, white body