the day God died
Posted: September 18th, 2009, 11:15 pm
The day God died
all the hells' bells rung rung rung
the peel of gypsy bells came in waves
and all the hermits in caves rejoyced
the day God died the war in heaven ended
and James Joyce finally awoke from the nightmare
called history
on that day my mentor chased me out of the pad
with a butcher knife
we had been arguing all night long
about who is the reincarnation of Rimbaud
i was on that marchin saints of New Orleans road
and a carnival that had parked on the shore
had flung open its cheap arcade door, and swallowed
me like a prophet
on that day too, Rimbaud confessed his sins and repented
on his death bed, or so it was said, i rather think he was
delirious, and his confession was faked, but then Arthur
had given up his bad boy poet ways, and took up with
a hottentot, did he not? running guns in darkest Africa
on the day God kicked the bucket, a man came from Nantucket
and Nietzsche sat down and cried his heart out
the eternal return of the same, was not just a blame game
it consisted of a dumping of all random critique
by the clique that masqueraded as history herself
on the day he died, i had just gotten a poem published in a local
rag, the series of events that led up to that had dragged me down
some strange paths, my young life had been captured
by the poet boogie man, somehow a copy of 'A Season in Hell' had
found its way into my scene
and man i was green, but i saw what must be done, i had to kill him
on that great day, all the fallen angels fell like autumn leaves
into the cosmic void, and and all the silver linings shone on many
cloud mansions, and not long after the deluge, i wandered
along shimmering lanes, and on that day, Beethoven played the 9th
the Rosicrucian music played in my God exploded head
i fell under the house of Usher and a flock of black birds flew from me
i had been chemically crucified and had been buried in Harry Potters field
before Harry had been dreamed of, i dreamed in the Tomb the Egyptian
had stood on Nietzsche's cliff notes and had fallen into the abyss
that had fallen into me
I wandered with Melmoth through the underground realms, the nine
still playin somewhere near by, oh, this pyramid sphinx like opening
folded its golden lit mirrors around the dead and you who are not dead
will not see or feel the earth shattering tremor on the day she rises
to meet the poet of the universe, and take him to her Magdalene breast
on the day God died the sleeping gypsy awoke and his lion swished
his mighty tail, and a roar could be heard around the world
and all the symphonic angels sing, Ave Maria, ave Maria, Ave ave ave
and...the corpse of Osiris is afloat on the earth womb
boom boom boom, he shot me right down
and on the day he arose like some mummy clown
and a poet with a golden aura stood tall and hoary
with his long white beard and cried" the poet is dead" the poet is dead
and from out of his cloaked sleeve a fleet of ufo's flew like the black birds
and all the colored girls sing...da doot ta doot ta doot doot doot, doot ta doot
all the hells' bells rung rung rung
the peel of gypsy bells came in waves
and all the hermits in caves rejoyced
the day God died the war in heaven ended
and James Joyce finally awoke from the nightmare
called history
on that day my mentor chased me out of the pad
with a butcher knife
we had been arguing all night long
about who is the reincarnation of Rimbaud
i was on that marchin saints of New Orleans road
and a carnival that had parked on the shore
had flung open its cheap arcade door, and swallowed
me like a prophet
on that day too, Rimbaud confessed his sins and repented
on his death bed, or so it was said, i rather think he was
delirious, and his confession was faked, but then Arthur
had given up his bad boy poet ways, and took up with
a hottentot, did he not? running guns in darkest Africa
on the day God kicked the bucket, a man came from Nantucket
and Nietzsche sat down and cried his heart out
the eternal return of the same, was not just a blame game
it consisted of a dumping of all random critique
by the clique that masqueraded as history herself
on the day he died, i had just gotten a poem published in a local
rag, the series of events that led up to that had dragged me down
some strange paths, my young life had been captured
by the poet boogie man, somehow a copy of 'A Season in Hell' had
found its way into my scene
and man i was green, but i saw what must be done, i had to kill him
on that great day, all the fallen angels fell like autumn leaves
into the cosmic void, and and all the silver linings shone on many
cloud mansions, and not long after the deluge, i wandered
along shimmering lanes, and on that day, Beethoven played the 9th
the Rosicrucian music played in my God exploded head
i fell under the house of Usher and a flock of black birds flew from me
i had been chemically crucified and had been buried in Harry Potters field
before Harry had been dreamed of, i dreamed in the Tomb the Egyptian
had stood on Nietzsche's cliff notes and had fallen into the abyss
that had fallen into me
I wandered with Melmoth through the underground realms, the nine
still playin somewhere near by, oh, this pyramid sphinx like opening
folded its golden lit mirrors around the dead and you who are not dead
will not see or feel the earth shattering tremor on the day she rises
to meet the poet of the universe, and take him to her Magdalene breast
on the day God died the sleeping gypsy awoke and his lion swished
his mighty tail, and a roar could be heard around the world
and all the symphonic angels sing, Ave Maria, ave Maria, Ave ave ave
and...the corpse of Osiris is afloat on the earth womb
boom boom boom, he shot me right down
and on the day he arose like some mummy clown
and a poet with a golden aura stood tall and hoary
with his long white beard and cried" the poet is dead" the poet is dead
and from out of his cloaked sleeve a fleet of ufo's flew like the black birds
and all the colored girls sing...da doot ta doot ta doot doot doot, doot ta doot
