JOHNMICHAEL SIMON POETRY

Let me sing you a song

in my recently reconditioned voice

 

It’s a song of a new bright ooze of ketchup

an epitaph hummed by a tone deaf hedgehog

it’s a song of soap in a world where hope

is a commodity reserved for King and Pope

 

Let me dance you a dance

on my pathetic prosthetic

 

It’s a dance of the hopeless, the dead, the maimed

the amputees Olympic games

it’s a dance of desire in a world where fire

crackles out every day from hilltop and spire

 

Let me babble you a ballad

as my conscience bites my words

 

It’s a ballad of bibles, fables and lies

it’s a camouflaged future of dynamite size

it’s a ballad of brainwashing, beatings, hypnosis

and a wreath made from cigarettes, morphine and roses