It's near 3am after the first Shattered Wig Night after Blaster slipping through the time crack. I've been cobbling together this tawdry little homage using bits of his bits.
Well Dr. Feebnuts
I didn't have these
lumps when I entered
your office
but here they are
with so many
heads mewling sweetly
mewling at the body with bop cap
morning beers
of word clattering glory
the horded pork
loins of droopy drawers Jim
a big bummer
Hey sailor, there's
a pumpkin in Uranus
There is a sun behind our sun
A moon behind our moon
and the puppet strings
have crossed forcing my
hand onto your leg
Here is the alley where
you took a blackjack
to the face for me
Here are the Clover eggs
fried with hangover leaden lids
still sliding on the sweat-sheened
ratty couch
I am not Lulu
and you were not Sidney Poitier
but if you wanted the moon
I would write across the stars
The Moonhead News
- that news being that
you cracked my mind
revealed my past to me
like a turd shimmering
on the end of a fork
but with promises
of comets blazing ahead
And how should I thank you
for that and the Thai meals
and Emmylou fried chicken
I will never know
but I will place
you in the wrinkled
McDonald's bag of my heart
jammed under the seat of
a pickup truck
Sadly Dr. Feebnuts, my
current insurance won't
cover a mind blowing, a
near deadly glimpse into
The True Reality
but I will use the
one last bit of advice
from my old pal Blaster -
If the bill collectors are
calling, always answer your
phone "Juan's Taco Palace!"
- Rupert Wondolowski
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