The Serpent of many
colors and tongues
Wears his coat, the street
Snaky
Like two baffled hookers
Arm in arm laughing
At their own pink coats
Sequins glittering
Like stars
They wander in winding
Stutters down the alley
Smoking the cigars
Of the serpent
Choking down cheap brandy
Bums fucking the air
Grasp the solidity of cardboard
And slide into a muttering puddle
Of dreams and hacking up phlegm
Tubercular and weeping they
Embrace the police
Who eat sandwiches
And dance the two step
And one-behind-the-head
With a Billy Club
In between the donuts
But a serious black
Cup of coffee
Is not as dark
As the blood
On his pant leg
When he walks
With a strident
Shudder
The serpent
Is wrapped all round his head
Like a taxi-drivers
Turban
And he ignores me
On his predatory
Way…\
I stand outside the burger
Hut and cry. Thinking
The serpent has my soul
In it’s grasp.
It’s not drugs or money
That ties me to the chair
And breaks my fragile pride
It’s time
That has made me her bitch
I’ve died in my head over ten thousand deaths
And still the serpent carries me
On it’s back through the
Alleys and galleries and food shops\
At least I’m not a bum.
I still fear for my mortality
But the flowers here are women
Who smile and men who embrace me
Even as I puke up my guts in the
Gallery bathroom….
I remember that madness
Makes us all fragile
And the serpent
I have no fear of him
Because he is only a
Bitter string of streets
And a sad story
Told by the women downstairs
Who bleeds and starves
And asks me for money
Even as I stave off hunger
I hand her a crumpled dollar
The agitated genius of the folks
Who play here would inspire me
More if the serpent didn’t demand
They pay for their gifts with debt
Punk rock for 60K a semester
Wouldn’t work out for me
I bleed in the gallery bathroom
I drink a coca-cola and thrive
On my own human suffering
And the serpent winds deep into the heart
Of the city carrying music on every
Vertebrae.
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