The music's still sweet and rocks!
  The band has liver spots and jowls.
  Fans on oxygen park in handicap and
  take walkers to their seats. Rock old!

There's a monster
that possesses me
living in my heart
never lets me be.
Angry as a boil
won't set me free.
You promise love
do you have a key?

I write a thousand poems.
  Some good, bad and so so
  and put them in bottles
  in the ocean to be found
  by The New Yorker or
  Harriet Monroe's POETRY.
  It's bad when family flies in.
You know you're almost gone
and it'll be printed in the very
next issue my favorite one.

If I kiss the ring
will I be a thing?
I just want rules
so I'm not a fool.
I'll dance faster
for the Master.
Is it Eliot York?
Timetabled dork?
Do I need to find
a place more kind?

Uh Oh!
The monsters back in town
slow burn alcohol stove
keeps its water boiling
ready to blow this place
to hell any minute now.

Women were dancing with women.
  Men were dancing with men.
  Donkeys were ****** and dogs too.
  Chains kept the whole thing civil.
  Love songs flew over mountains and
  the moon kept a billion secrets.

Each pencil is an arrow, every pen a spear,
     each typewriter key a grenade of "truth".
     Propaganda sways masses where writers steer.
     Who are we to doubt the almighty news?