king friday’s lament

by scootertrash

Posted to Action Poetry on 2003-03-02 02:59:00

down from the stinking
mounain of make believe
Mr. Rogers burns like
a tail light of a ’57 Olds.
Oh, Freddy!
Why?
Why?
Why?
Oh, Baby
Put on your blue sneakers
and dance motherfucker
Your cardigan calls you
from the dark closet of
forgotten egyptian
fantasies and boiled meat
Stripped of sanctimonious
suffocating oxcarts
Recoiling from the
blue black nosebleeds
of Art Linkletter, baby
ART! ART! ART!
O great Faker of cool medium
clownage from distant strange
circuses rapelling down the
spicy granite surface of
Arabic technicolor rainbarrels
claw their way into the hearts
and minds of the lost tribes of
Kansas City and the
Republic of Cicero Illinois.
We are all doomed
DOOMED I SAY!
burning and burning on through
the grey canyons of isolation
Fueled by french fried failures
of the Greek aristocracy
Rejected by the animosity filled
gasbags at the hardware store
and seduced by the string puppets
of all those crazy skull
juggling dentists on acid
and butterfly wings.
Crashing crashing crashing
crashing down, man, down down