Fugue of 7 Beatles' Songs Revisited

Fugue of 7 Beatles' Songs Revisited


The Fool on the Hill


Last stand. Eyeballing inward. Mania glut.
In the distance, urban landmarks pool
the rise & fall, scorn & torn, open & shut.
Fences fallen away. Apathy. The Fool
seated cross-legged in brown Spring grass
holding whims of refusal together.
All that he is, all that he finally has
testing the mettle of psychic weather
dumbed down. Sham third eye. Ohm. Bright vowels
& chapped lips peeling. Scruffy Mount Royal
where the homeless know better than to howl.
Sex trade workers. Picnickers. Spoils.
Dog in a manger without a manger.
Squished pop can. Century butt end. Strangers.


A Day in the Life


Squished pop can. Century butt end. Strangers.
Who is who already you in drag.
All those possibilities, dangers
post-dated, daft. Mindset of a time lag
between unranked phenomena. Mouse trap
in a pet shop. Necessities. Loud speakers.
On the internet Tuesday weather map
indications the day will call for sneakers
that know how to sweat. Accidents set
in repressed small print, all eyes on it.
Grim headlines for Iraq & Global debt.
A small boy's racing intentions split
between How & If – never Why.
Press a button. Shun steroids. Leap. Die.


I Me Mine


Press a button. Shun steroids. Leap. Die.
The middle way bows elsewhere, silken cheeked.
The truth is innocent – the truth has to lie
or be carefully guarded, then slyly leaked
to ensure the triumph of dead men dancing
under the pocked moon. Such gorgeous flight
or fight response – small claims enhancing
fishbowl dreaming among the far Right,
the blowhard egoists. Shush, shush
the cellular bells that toll for thee
believably, pointedly, choreographed, lush
in a way you've been taught it can never be.
For now what's of interest has you in mind.
Take up the chorus – I Me Mine.


Across the Universe


Did you take up the chorus? I Me Mine?
Gauche mistakes – millennia – star light.
Tempest in a handshake. Mandala design
exploded, celestial, token-bright.
Nothing's gonna change my world today
bareback-stormy, broken, of a piece
with recycled tunes – also ways to pray
wordlessly into a soothing release
from gnawing desire. Nothing will spin
the tick, tock, flip, flop out of control.
No thing inside here will lose or win –
stung sum of parts greater than the whole.
Tantrum laughter. Pining. Moot silence.
Niches of shadow. Blood heart. Violence.


Helter Skelter


Niches of shadow, blood heart, violence –
all for true love with no hedging of bets
till labouring over the need for pretense,
method goes awry, doubt collects.
Kiss me or no by the frail garden gate.
Ask me to supper – de-cork the wine.
Choose between pledges & wriggling bait.
Loosen your fear grip, take your sweet time
like a song still deciding – song full of flaws
bewitching/enticing/stalling/claw-red –
turncoat rhythmic, studded with pause –
slippery-evasive – chasing the dead.
Turn down the volume. Hush – I'm still here –
pulse in your blue wrist, tongue in your ear.



Black Bird


Pulse in your blue wrist, tongue in your ear.
Into the light of the dark black night
circling. The fool on the hill's been here.
Bread crumb path. Prickly vines. Winter's sight
sweeping ever & a day away.
& back again. Deep breath. Alone time.
Stop. Start. Imagine. Replay
the way you might a teasing slant rhyme.
Obstacles. Worry beads. Heavy air
weighing down a well used, heavy heart.
Say the gods give no more than we can bare;
to know when to start's a rich art.
Up ahead what you see may be what you get.
Mind advances sideways. Not there yet…


I am the Walrus


Advancing sideways – not there yet.
In the distance, urban landmarks swell.
Sex trade workers. Businessmen. Vets.
The third eye sees, just can't tell.
On the pixel screen Monday's weather map –
no rain today, no sun tomorrow.
Black bird steals your baseball cap –
good lovers steal, bad lovers borrow.
Tempest handshake. Press a button. Leap.
Fishbowl-dream the pockmarked moon.
Semolina pilchards ten eggmen deep –
pray no one will give up too soon.
At any rate hold fast to your squatter's hut –
last stand – eyeballing – mania glut.