it’s a kid and he’s five years old
and he’s playing the violin
like he’s brushing his hair,
and the people shout: ‘what a talent! talent!’
and i murmur myself into the crowd:
what ingenious robotics
that might spare him the knowledge of psychiatry
and give him plenty of *****,
unless softened as: plenty of score sheets
of the frame-worked-angling-or-angular
on the pierced lips: limboed into execution for applause;
celebrity culture doesn't work with the intellectual
output of these times with the current of atheism...
i mean... why suggest the quotation:
'i'm the most popular monkey in all of the monkey race!'
are we sprinting the 100 or doing the marathon?
'i'm the sole monkey recipient of monkey -
no other monkey came before me!’
then i stole the other monkeys’ skin
by calling them skinny and via their souls
gimmicked shaking feet
handling a raw potato as a hammer... to insinuate cordiality
rather than footprint, and in claiming something of my own
that i could not put it into latex and prop it on the mantelpiece, for a shimmer
and advertisement of good teeth; which freaked me out,
and became a david bowie oddity bestseller single sung like:
la la fleece, le le olé twirl n’ twist, la la flake of snow le le craved a tryst.