Monkey Business

Is it possible that
Everything that needs to be written
Has already been wrtiiten
And that
The great scrum of words
That boil out of my fetid and fevered imagination
Are merely swill upon the page
Vomited up
In the service of the ultimate dictator
And destroyer of consciousness
In us all-
Ego?

Ten (or is it one hundred?) monkeys
Sitting and probably shitting
At their respective keyboards
Given enough thyme
So the scientists say-
Could produce the entire canon
Of world literature on everything
That has already been written
Not by these scientists at their keybaords
But by actual true and reliable
Human beings.

This denigration of art
Lays a fart
And is fit only for a tart
Who in life never had a start!

We are a world apart!

This mechanized mind
Of the mechanical kind
Can never find in me
A reason to be!

So the poet's demise
They will never realize
Our art is life-
Their ego strife!

To the Goddess

The ambiance of the atmosphere
Was heavy with the smoke
Of sulphur;

In the domain
Of Lou Cipher
The owner of
Pornopolis.

His kingdom cum
Is a pornocopia
Of tits and asses
For the illiterate masses.

In a time of ruthless plunder
It’s the place down under
In which we’re cast asunder
Without the sound of thunder.

For me
My Annabelle Lee
Never fails to come
For every knight!

Oh what a sight
It gives me a fright
There by the sounding sea
With her on my knee,

As I make my plea
To the Holy See
There by the sounding sea
My Annabelle and me!

To quote the raven-
“Nevermore”
Is she the whore
That I adore

There by the sounding sea
Where I only came
To take a pee!

Babylon the Great
Kingdom of endless hate
For me without a mate
In such a sorry assed state.

But the hour is late
To accept my fate
There by the sounding sea
On Annabelle I pee!

We came forth
From the sand and the sea
Like the worms we have become.
We climbed to the top of the Tree of Life-
We saw ourselves as the titans
But now as the final hour maybe approaches
We prove to ourselves that we are mere cockroaches!

As the coaches of death and decay
Now plague our planet Earth
In us there is no longer
Any time for mirth.

What can I say
Of that final day
Which according to the Way
Indicates God’s eternal sway!

Made by man in his own image
An aeon dedicated
To His pointless scrimmage!

An ethic that is epic
Defines the poet’s art
For us great Homer
Was a mere humble start.

The day of the Way
Is now under our sway,
Math and science now rule this day!
Of oily decay
And final ruin;
In fact our own doin’
As we gave ourselves
A final screwin’!

Pornopolis the king
Pornocopia his ware,
In light of this we sware
Never to be a square
But always to dare
And never to wear
Better to be bare without a hair!

Forget the stare
We haven’t a care!
Pornopolis our king
Let the freedom bells ring!

Ding-a-dong-ding!
Ding-a-dong-ding!
To the moaning and the groaning
Of the belles we now sing!

Ding-a-dong-ding
Pornopolis is our king!

Ding-a-dong-ding-
Let us all swing!
Oh happy the day that we put
Under our heel
The day of the Way
And God’s great dismal sway!

To the Goddess we sing-
Ding-a-dong-ding!
To the Goddess we sing-
Let freedom ring!

Of our oily end
Let us just pretend
That our pornocopia
Will mend
All our broken ways
And this endtime daze!

As for the Beijing haze
And the Washington craze,
Still to the Goddess we sing-
Ding-a-dong ding
Still to the Goddes we sing-
Our new born king!


Youtube Reading




.