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!"
