May 2006

 

TAJ-MAH GAH-GAH   (the wedding of the world)

 

Pious pipes at the wedding of the world, the altar of love,

More bloody than the fantasy drugstore inside your head

A smear on her silk bridal purse, all hunter’s glory, hero’s

Gory details, beyond sow’s ears or fur-lined tea cups, or

anything you can hot melt together on a dreary afternoon.

Here’s state of the art orgasmatron, a digital Mendelssohn

Download, pod wad, mad-ass blow-out of WIFI nuptials.

 

From Euro toga to new-age yoga you search for the party,

A wild guy and his babe collection, but find only the street

Version – down and out drug induced aftermath, college

prank gone bad with a bewildered and stranded, golden

Haired Miss Sagittarius in a skimpy purple frock and no

Cake to jump out of, looking for a Dukes of Hazard lover

Driving his grapes of wrath pick up truck while hung over.

 

The world is many marriages, Taj-Mah Gah-Gah not the

Only yardstick of rituals where, as John Malcolm Brinnin

Says: Anger and Ecstasy fight for air. Pipe me the music

I care to hear, all about a world in the whorl of our ears,

Though enraged by truth, no one escapes hearthstone

Wreckage now and then, and none too softly whispered.

My metaphor is darker than the ad in the gala brochure.

 

The quasi-human, vineyard beast-god, drinking drunk

From his own horn, his own artist bag of tricks, about to

Fall from his own ideals and graces, only to land in his

Own crusty laundry, a swirl of democracies in his head 

Where the experiment builds on the broken buttresses

Of past, fantasy Gah-gah palaces, kingdoms turned to

Sand dunes and a scatter of column stones in the wind.