02 aprile 2014

Fly on a Windshield

There's something solid forming in the air,
And the wall of death is lowered in Times Square.
No-one seems to care,
They carry on as if nothing was there.

The wind is blowing harder now,
Blowing dust into my eyes.
The dust settles on my skin,
Making a crust I cannot move in
And I'm hovering like a fly, waiting for the windshield on the freeway.

Echoes of The Broadway Everglades
With their mythical madonnas still walking in their shades:
Lenny Bruce delcares a truce and plays his other hand
Marshall McLuhan, casual viewin', head buried in the sand.
Sirens on the rooftops wailing, but there's no ships sailing.
Groucho, with his movies trailing, stands alone with his punchline failing.

Ku Klux Klan serve hot soul foood and the band plays "in The Mood"
The cheerleader waves her cyanide wand,
There's a smell of peach blossom and bitter almond.
Caryl Chessman sniffs the air, and leads the parade
He knows, in a scent, you can bottle what you made!

There's Howard Hughes in blue suede shoes
Smiling at the Majorette, smoking Winston cigarettes
And as the song and dance begins, the children play at home
with needles...Needles and pins

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