The broken record of my youth
turns on the bitter salt
of fortunes squandered
in the era of fake blondes...
Here,I am ,
mercury messenger ,
twilight ridder ...
At the end of the ball ,
night parrots
back in the shade
when queens go bare ...
Fairies and dragons
are child's play
for the grown-ups of this world...
Sweet ladies and gentle harlots ,
your blue dreams
set in the icy ambergis
of a prophecy ...
Here,I am ,
chronicler of saturn rings ,
to this runt clinging
in the bossom of the foolish virgin.
I cast the spell to end it all
in a great offering of holy vomite...
Madonna throws soiled panties to the public !
Despair no longer mobilizes cadavers ...
Thriller of a lunar stride .
In those days when life smiled ,
I was filled with funeral moons.
The black eyes of death
designing me ,
architect of a spider web .
You're all gone ,
and brownish mummies .
Only astrology filled with fury.
Madonna's dirty buttocks
in an old cupboard
of your memory ...
Starchy buffoons ,
amonia perfumed jesters ,
parody creatures
go and find the court of the flies .
Lethal jingle please !
-
Author:
lorenz (Pseudonym) (
Online) - Published: July 4th, 2025 10:37
- Category: Unclassified
- Views: 9
- Users favorite of this poem: Priya Tomar
Online)
Comments3
Madonna twice and her butt too. I get a postmodern feeling of a Salvador Dali painting mixed with Harmonious Bosch and a dab of Bob Dylan. An intriguing write.
a reflection on the 80s ...
You’re looking back at the '80s — at pop culture, at those deceptive sparkles that once seemed like real magic but now feel like a masquerade. Very vivid...
Yes a lethal masquerade and now we have to pay the bitter bill !
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