Black Sheep…Broken Throne

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I have been thinking about…sin, as of late.

When it ends?

Where it begins?

How it hovers around from within?

A snap of the bony spine that breaks when seated.

Why did someone else place their misdeeds…in my mind?

Why the cheating hearts of childhood passed down a broken a throne?

Madness Child?

A title handed down…for me to own.

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I have been thinking about sin…as of late.

How it is meant to control.

How it is a hand me down…stunting the soul,  as it grows.

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Replacing the Black Hat

Love had overflowed onto my pride.andy warholjpg

A black hat, as well as, my black sheep bravado…

blew out from under a tattered sleeve on a fresh laundry wind.

Both flew so high, I never thought of seeing them again.

Until now I had carried them for years, with ease.

Tucked under a set of skeleton keys.

With a fistful of reservation, I gave all to the lovely breeze.

The black, a newly discovered multi colored ease of purpose and…the set of hand me down keys.

The three, set in a vast array of self discovery.

Butch, and filled with piss and vinegar, these new accommodations nearly brought me to my knees.

Love had spilled upon my pride.2 hearts 1

All those years of ‘no place left to hide’…supplemented by love.

Replacing all my darker sides.

 

 

My Soul Itches

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My soul itches.

With the blatant magic of gluttony.

Lust with the absorbency of all the plagues wrapped up as, Christmas stuffs.

I am my own superstition.

Today, no belt worn.

Tomorrow, no hat.

The odds are all on the black sheep.

Never, once bitten, twice shy.

Over dramatic?

Well, maybe, the heart cannot go on into infinity…rent free.

Folksy, folks, say,

‘The moon is closest with thoughts such as these.’

The sun, the furthest, when love says,

just let it be.’

You, Beautiful Boy…John Lennon.

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Had it been a colder winter, would Vicki been more aware of the day, the time…the shift of wind, to the subtle change of the earth’s emotions?  A typical day, no matter the season had been a hippie rainbow, splashed with a tie dye of skeleton, neon green and pink…

Typical?  No, no, fuckin’ way!  The day played out in the 13 year old’s, tainted by peace and love, screw the establishment…, mind.  This time though, it had been  recorded in tears.  Similar to looking at that larger than life, black-light, poster of Elvis, in a pantsuit…one toke shy of a good high!elvis

Sitting, lotus style on the shag carpeting of Lynn’s bedroom, attempting to really understand the true meaning of…

 

Terry Jack’s; Seasons in the Sun

 

A wonderful song about dying, the rebirth of spring and the friends we leave behind.

At the time, as two rebel freaks adverse to conformity…Vicki and Lynne only thought of the song as a sad good-bye to their childhood.  As it was certain, once High School began, the end poetically and physically, would be near.

Yet, none of that silly lonely life felt by many of similar breed and congruent thought mattered…For down below, in the bowels of the ancient home, sat, Lynne’s brother, Eddie.

Eddie, posted upon a stool made of stolen milk crates, smiled a mad-dog grin…as he and his buddies, banged out

Stairway to Heaven!

It hadn’t been that the band played poorly.  It wasn’t that the four mop-heads didn’t somehow resemble Muppet Puppets.   The simple fact had been, those fools just were not cool!  Anyway you cut it!  Those white boys had no rhythm and certainly, no style!

Vicki and Lynn cranked that hot pink record player.  So often had the needle been manually brought back to go that…well…one verse repeated itself over and over and over again.

Papa
Please pray for me
I was the black sheep of the family

No matter the loudness of the house.  No matter a child’s play at bettering the current situation.  No matter, the pleas, the tears and the questions…the ‘just give me some truth,’ could not be tucked away.

John Lennon, the prince of peace, the maker of all love, the heart and soul of a collective few living in a small New Hampshire city, tucked away in the middle class, had been killed the night before.

It had been a Monday night, 10:50 p.m., 1980!

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The next day, with songs cranked, with outrage pouring out of every Yukon Jack bottle, with Vicki and Lynne attempting to drown their fears in the therapy of music…with all this…a handful of mourners headed for the capital.  One of these walking tributes to all that John Lennon could Imagine, had been Lynne’s mother.  Decked out with beaded vest, bell bottom Tough Skins…faded just right, and a pair of knee high, ‘knock me down and show me a good time’ black leather boots: Lynne’s mother made Stevie Nicks look like a girl scout in training.

And, it was on this day, Tuesday, December 9th, 1980…between the blue grass music being tortured by an all bad male band, and, the young ladies quietly paying respect through lyrics…Lynne’s mother lay entombed in her bedroom to distraught to go to work.

Odd, years later, Vicki would visit the Orpheum theater in Boston to see,  the Plastic Ono band.  She would be high on technicolor and acid!  She would not remember much of that night.  She would remember, Yoko’s acknowledgement of her long lost husband.  And, she would remember that day…a handful of years back…

That day, when within her little world of Peace, Love and Happiness, she learned of  new emotions.  Terror and pure hate!  To the current day, Vicki could not bring herself to read, ‘Catcher in the Rye’, she could not capitalize on anything relating to John’s death.  No new and recently found works of Lennons‘…posthumously!

Fading to black in the very back row of the Orpheum theater, weirdness abound, with necklaces made of Barbie Doll parts, Hippies zoned out on weed, the sweet smell corroding the walls…a simple verse is all that Vicki could recall…

Goodbye to you
My trusted friend

We’ve known each other since we were nine or ten
Together we’ve climbed hills and trees

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