Gloss Tea And Finger Crumpets With UnAlice And Jello Biafra Holding Up UnderLand~

oh dear~ the night is clinging like a magik tic made of diamonds and tocks~

Midnight tea pours itself in ink

painting tableau

as I adjust my dainty skirt of razorblades

in proper humility

bunched up by a hipbone

under UnAlice’s ministrations

turning my loose leaf pages over and under

stitching my skin book

into metal chair backing

curved to accommodate Jello Biafra

with his Cheshire smile

spooning

Califonia uber alles

from the flute of his thigh bone

into the gold coated silence of my cheeks;

I am caught

with wings fabricated by the great Yasumaro

before the staged pillage of a magik girl

peeled from the epic Kojiki

sewn with cherry blossom fibers

and smeared with raccoon eyes against the dilapidated

dreams

of a doorframe outside CBGB’s

 

I am such a clear window

but all the boys ever saw were the stained glass ghosts

falling to communion

at my leather Doc Martens

red

twelve eye holes

me

good enough to worship

never good enough

never safe enough

to love

 

But I digress

in pathetic woe my almond prattle

becomes passé

at the Café;

nothing really matters

in the club of rabbits

bouncing in strip cages

wondering how

they got from Minnesota corn fields

into smoke filled skin

and headlight eyes

 

Jello Biafra, my saint

perfumed my wrists in chemical warfare

and deep Henry Rollins colored me damaged

and made it alright to be so

but most curious was the girl made of peppermint wax

who ran the world between cracked walls

and little gods shooting heroin under the pounding speakers

and there, I, in my UnAlice pride

and knee high white socks

and pedigreed education

dared bring sunshine into the sideways worm hole

where wormwood played its music at the tips of my fingers

and punks licked the sharp years from the wasp of my waist

inhaling E minors and scooping myth cream from my white silver mind;

Jello said I tasted like pudding

 

Go ahead, smile

I am

smiling

 

UnAlice in a flash of white teeth

dipping a ladle in concrete

and green marsh

scooping milk and whiskey

and organelles

into flutes

for another soul drunk night in UnderLand

where we dance

and dance well

and dream hard

to keep OverLand

from crushing down

on us

weird folk

 

Go ahead

smile again

I am

 

 

 

copyright:2011victoriaseleneskyedeme/amusemusepress

ALL RIGHTS RESERVED

Author's Note

the oldest written work in Japanese literature is " Kojiki" in 712, in which "Yasumaro "recorded Japanese mythology and history ~

Jello Biafra and Henry Rollins, respectively from the Dead Kennedys and Black Flag, were lead singers/song writers from the 70's punk movement who screamed with social conscience~ I got a lot of my education about humanity from men like this while I was too young to be at any of these clubs~ lol

Reviews

[Lilly Negoi]

"good enough to worship
never good enough
never safe enough
to love"
that is one huge punch, i'd say :). that "worship" thing made me see you floating on a cloud of words, petting them on their heads while crushing others' envious groaning under your heel - and all that with an ironic sparkle in your eye.

[kmartell]

Damn it all. so good. makes me feel me almost envious. ( envy is ignorance, so I shant go there) but class is being held. I just find this to be genius for real.

[Muse]

Some of my favorite lines:

Jello Biafra, my saint
perfumed my wrists in chemical warfare
and deep Henry Rollins colored me damaged

I love how you always take the reader to never never land.

[piggy]

This is very very long but I like your shoes

[The Rock And Roll Cowbo..]

Society is full of corruption including religion, when you are out in the real world if you do not have street savvy you will be taken advantage when least expected... you danced us through the jungle of life with the grace of a ballerina and the wisdom confucius.

[Aidz]

This made me smile... a lot.. as I spun into the rabbit hole visions of long dead punks and misspent youth rushed past ;) Shame this generation has no social conscience reflected in music...

[Loki Ragna-rock]

The syllabus of a life in verse.
Funny how life passes before us in the whee hours trying to trade its prisoner, sleep, for meaning in a hostage negotiation with the self.

[Robin]

Kami aura flashing in the par lamp glitter of echoes of clubstages where speakers spilled the shouts of an era , of a razor-edged spotlight - to a corner booth carnival , where a tiny dancer spun atop a tesseract musicbox and a wink because we were there , soul drunk and smiling ~

[Cafe Reader]

Your Underland is a wild place of pain and pleasure. You're one who really understands the concept of yin and yang and bring it through each and every time brilliantly.

and there, I, in my UnAlice pride

and knee high white socks

and pedigreed education

dared bring sunshine into the sideways worm hole

where wormwood played its music at the tips of my fingers

and punks licked the sharp years from the wasp of my waist

inhaling E minors and scooping myth cream from my white silver mind;

Jello said I tasted like pudding



Go ahead, smile

I am

smiling

[LilyT]

Your beautiful mind is much like coral, building on itself layer on layer as you live your life, as you regenerate memories and bring them through into today with clarity and enchantment.


UnAlice in a flash of white teeth

dipping a ladle in concrete

and green marsh

scooping milk and whiskey

and organelles

into flutes

for another soul drunk night in UnderLand

where we dance

and dance well

and dream hard

to keep OverLand

from crushing down

on us

weird folk


Your name should have been Miracle.

[SkinlessFrank]

the visor you allow us to wear, if only briefly, a mind-shattering, hardwired connection that grates at the pit of the stomach, raises anxiety to levels beautiful and painful