Hookers or Cake

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I'm too wacky to be hip.

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      ------------------------------------ There was a large painting of Evel Knievel shaking hands with Richard Nixon. It hung in the Mayors office. Late one evening after everyone went home. I took it down to the lab. I zoomed in on Evel’s left eye a 100x and enhanced it. It was an address. I went to the address. It was a modest, 1970’s style, split level ranch home in the suburbs.

      ----------------------------------- Inside I found a dead parrot lying on a waterbed. I revived the parrot with some saltines and adrenaline. We became good friends. The parrots name was Randy. One night a few years later while Randy and me played Gin Rummy, he sang me a song about a fire. The title of this blog was never mentioned but I sensed it, and Randy confirmed it by giving me ‘THE LOOK’.

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          • March 1, 2012 11:49 pm


            Everyone has a god
            Something they worship

            The inner reaches of outer space
            throwing key-lime pie, into the face

            of death

            of love

            of mystery…

            History’s slow dance into the future

            that no one ever

            seems to remember.

            What are we?

            This endless tumblin
            this slum flunk drumblin
            hobo trumpet
            tremblin

            into the mouth of god

             

            29 notes Filed under:  shitty poetry, poetry, total fucking godhead,.
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          by Peter Vidani. For .
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