Friday, February 26, 2010

The weapon of song can never replace a singing weapon


Minstrel, jongleur,
vagans, mime,
I sing in jest
and fatal earnest,
spitting and slinging,
puking and rebuking,
barking and biting
the hand that reads me,
thieving and leching,
arrogantly deflecting
that is, correcting –
birthing but a new word
or two as glue
for the monstrous music
of endless collage.

And what of it?
Piss off, as it pays
no rent! So what,
if I call it fun?

Back! Only fools fuck
with a desperado!

This world makes sick
and earns the rancor
of every singing canker.

That it giveth me no living
is mildest complaint!