Breaking of Old Habits
Music separated from the yoke
Is “True Religion”
Sounds the chords who through self deceit
Incite the proletariat.
So says the huckster
Passing through town
Shilling the cure.
So says the Rabbi
Lifting the Tora
With music and dance.
So says the Crimson fan
Of unknown origin.
Precipice ahead, mob behind,
The wrong guy I tell you,
The Broad End
He killed her on Broadway. She lies like the lamb. Graciously,
In plain sight. Crowds ascend and pass the drunk,
Slight the performer, kick the nuisance. He loved her,
So where else could it be done?
The time arrived, the place revealed, the only way out,
With each and every move wishing her alive,
(youth’s companion by his side).
Mourning brings brooding, the knowing;
Without her death, he’d have no life.
Meaning is not required for implementation.
“Take me to your leader” sounds the ticker the death of reason.
Speculation! crowds chant, undulating in ecstasy. Tear it down
And raise a new monument to despair.
The moment's here, language changes,
Meanings rewritten by porcupine ambassadors.
“What is it”? yelled from roof tops
Goes largely ignored by the inventors.
In all depths of incursion meaning must transform
An indicator of the machine's well being
A pointer to inevitable doubts
A reliable friend that never existed.
Dumb All Over
Deacons of the New Church
Ride the Invisible Worm.
The hull displaces
Warmth for winter.
Beds and sills.
All the while winds circle greased print
And a man in black evades surrender.