Oda a Los Angeles

ODE TO L.A. WHILE THINKING OF BRIAN JONES, DECEASED

I'm a resident of a city They've just picked me to play the Prince of Denmark Poor Ophelia All those ghosts he never saw Floating to doom On an iron candle Come back, brave warrior Do the dive On another channel Hot buttered pool Where's Marrakesh Under the falls the wild storm where savages fell out in late afternoon monsters of rhythm You've left your Nothing to compete w/ Silence I hope you went out Smiling Like a child Into the cool remnant of a dream The angel man w/Serpents competing for his palms & fingers Finally claimed This benevolent Soul Ophelia Leaves, sodden in silk Chlorine dream mad stifled Witness The diving board, the plunge The pool You were a fighter a damask musky muse You were the bleached Sun for TV afternoon horned-toads maverick of a yellow spot Look now to where it's got You in meat heaven w/the cannibals & jews The gardener Found The body, rampant, Floating Lucky Stiff What is this green pale stuff You're made of Poke holes in the goddess Skin Will he Stink Carried heavenward Thru the halls of music No chance. Requiem for a heavy That smile That porky satyr's leer has leaped upward into the loam