On The Stage
Friends to trust.
Hair all mussed-up as a must.
"Somewhere in my mind, I think I'm moving."
Poetry stands blind to: `You can't do that here.'
Says, "#$@* off" to bending an ear...
That's why submitted to...
Unwilling to submitt. Says come closer story listeners,
Stories told here.
Russian and I same.
Tibetan and I.
Your views and mine.
Hey mate! You's walking this trail for a reason?
Who's taking meals-festive to heights unadorned?
Who's banking on `deamons to see through to angels?'
Taken directly, Wes Craven ends.
Another name bends all to its wishes.
Hands wave, "I'm fine, just breathing."
Stooped over, coughing.
Says, "#$@* off' to `tending some dearest's garden...'
Willing to submit to you angel eyes!
Says show us your ass,
Those glistening thighs.
Whores housed here.
Kidnapper and I same.
Murderer and I `wave our hands in the air like we just don't care.'
Tremulous, slink to our goal,
Slither to and fro and...whoosh!
Make way for another show.
Copyright 1997-2002 Joe Duvernay. All rights reserved.