Table of Contents


Jesus Was A Juggalo

Johnathan the Batshit Crazyman 

Yodeled all through the Eight Mile

Proclaiming the scene

Was about to bust out

With the Divine entrance 

Of the one known as the Wanderer;

The one who...

..was truly down with the clown.

Young denizens with face-paint

Lined the downtown core of Detroit

Dressed in their Kiss 

And Cannibal Corpse finery.

Jesus, who was want to disappoint

Performed his first miracle,

Lighting up the sky

With iridescent glowy reflection;

A stadium-sized fire he set

With one majestic fart 

And an official Guns n' Roses torch lighter.

Before the sun set that day,

And before the fields of ravers

And runaways alike

Lost their vibrant colors to the darkness,

The Wanderer

Had already cleared 

The faces of all and asundry,

Their acne griefs

And lip scars;

(those who fell into mishap

while impressing peers 

opening beer bottles

with their teeth).

In the morning, 

Before the first candy-flipping teen

Opened a mascara encrusted eye,

The scattered 

And strewn wine bottles 

Were now brimming with Faygo

And its glorious foam.

This new day was to be one

Solely dedicated to chicken hunting

And the solemn partaking

Of cotton candy.


Journey To My Accomplishment

My entering

Into the realm of sickness

Reads

Like something 

Straight out of Kirchhoff's Law;

So deep it was,

Even my sock puppet

Suffered mild fits 

Of episodic diphtheria.

The physical limitations

Were met

In a less-than-gleeful manner;

Brow-beating

The Old Nature

Into cordial submission,

And systematizing

All the labeled 

From its former congeries.

It charmed me,

Prodded me,

To name-change my dearest friend: 

Mysteria.

Temptation,

To fire my animateurs,

Glowed to impressive size;

For victory was begotten

And all maledictions against me

Were first shamed,

Then vanquished.

I prided myself 

That the results,

Justly measured,

And distant leagues 

From the anguished,

Though accomplishments 

Bettered a paltry sum,

And quantified

To less

Than Patti Smith's Music catalog,

It was a genuine leapfrog

Into the hearts 

And minds,

Far from that Satanic Bog.

One glance

In the magician's mirror

Announced my certification:

I was now numbered 

With the Judean Beautification.


Journey's First Leg

When the outbreak of neurosis

Died down 

To a caterpillar's purr

And the way-farers grew accustomed

To the gloom air bourn 

In the meandering twilight,

The red crystal river 

Was used for a faithful guide 

Doubling as their night-time spirit-lifter.

Wasn't but a week earlier

The three aged oracles 

Cast their predictions

In unison.

Victory 

Was as certain as defeat,

Awaiting anyone who's quest 

Was to find earth's bottom.

First leg of Journey's end,

Marked with a greeting 

From town's high gate

Where Long Beard sold his scarabs

To artisans of the dark arts.

A warm bed 

And a full belly of food

Was to be pinnacle’s thought

In most of the men.

The town 

Was but a one night-stand.

Achievement 

Afforded no more luxuries

After her.


Just Another Junkyard Wedding

Derelict Daddy

In his sleeveless tux

Crawled out of the crushed Caddy 

And tucks greasy arms

With his offspring damsel--

Scudding

And scuffing 

Down the rust covered aisle;

Avoiding,

At once,

This and that messy pile.

Her dress

Glints like sheet metal--

The guests are riveted. 

On top of the altar

Of razor wire and broken glass

Is the Minister's trusty friend,

A half-empty whiskey flask.

Up he pops

Like roadside trash,

To herald

The junkyard wedding blissed bash.

The groom did without;

He used no broom

To sweep the detritus heaps out;

So left but little room

For the cage-matched hearts 

To link amongst auto parts.

His skin,

Pierced with tattoos,

He tattooed his piercing gaze

Into his dirty lover's hub cap retinas.. 

"I do, I do, I do!"