Shimmy Shoopster in the monkey circus

Well, here's another one, long, and what it's about is anyone's guess...

Image by 【中文ID】愚木混株 【ins-ID】cdd20 from Pixabay

“No two fish are the same
Until you’ve eaten your fill you know,”
Said the first assumption.
“Yes I know
The explanation of a small excuse will never explain
As much as the big cheese fallen down a hole,”
Said the explanation fallen down a hole.
“Technically, chance has nothing to do with it
You make your own luck,”
Said an old bag of boiled sweets chipping in.
“What are you all talking about?”
Said the big fat smile scratching its head.
“Has it not been explained to you?” said the machine.
“Not yet,” said the wind racing around the streets.
“Well then, allow me,”
Said the bread and dripping prepared
And ready to be eaten:
“Above the wind where we sleep
There is the murmur of the tides turning...
Tonight we have the fitness machine
That plays with words
And jumps up and down and goes: woo woo.
So, it is night and the machine has an aversion
To being fit and it has a voice.
What else is there to know?
Perhaps there is more going on here...
Can the machine cry? Hmm.
Right, now then, you know children are not snails, right?
I mean, they’re faster than snails, aren’t they?
Anyway, enough about children and snails.
OK, I think we’re getting somewhere.”
A plain huge
Big as an ordinary smile of love
Sang a song of the blue light of destiny
As the boys from the up above of down below
Gnashed their teeth
And scribbled all was well on their blackboards
Of the missionaries
Who were proceeding
Always proceeding in what died a long time ago
And if the love-rats from hell
Had their way there would be bells
To announce the second coming
Of the virgin
Who was a prostitute and a good farter to boot.
The big smile raised its head about here and said:
“This is a strange story.”
The Gravesend gang who were all dead
And buried long ago
Readily agreed that this was so
So let us proceed as if one life isn’t enough
And two would be better.
“How many would you need anyway,” said the virgin
“And why would joy die like that
Taller than the sun and wide awake
As to say such in the scrambled face of eternity?”
The holy grocery machine in the orientalisation
Had time for thought
And so thought about the usual stuff
That came from nowhere:
Wouldn’t you like to go to all the places
That you’re in love with
And wouldn’t you like to find yourself there?
All aboard the genetic chicken train then.
And now let’s talk about love bombs
And smithereens
To sign into here then a moment a minute.
“Excuse me,” said the x-ray dog from next door.
“What is it?” said the baloney sandwich waiting to be eaten.
“Depression as a lemonade bowl full of goodies
Looking into the ecstatic eyes of a long day
Can be a tad boring if you do it for too long,”
Said the x-ray dog from next door.
“I agree with you entirely,”
Said the excruciating agony putting in an appearance.
“Hoy!” said the x-ray dog, “we don’t allow that around here.”
The baloney sandwich looked on
With a bemused expression that said
It was not going to dance to any of this.
“I entirely agree with you,”
Echoed back from out of the blue.
The x-ray dog walked off to look for a bone
Shaking its head at all the messages
That were appearing from nowhere.
“We come by here so frequently
To dash ourselves against these walls
And you can see it in the eyes of pain
Of those who can’t find a way out or grow wings to fly.
Are we the experiments of the generations
That came before
And thought to make us as they would have us?
We are undoing all this
And all their scheming has been for nothing...
But I am visible and they can see me in my nakedness
Where my tears talk so loud
In the shivers that assail me down my face
And in my heart.
So repeat after me:
I am in joy
And this is not my inheritance
But theirs
Those sleepless ghosts that cry in the dark to be heard.
Death is not the end...
We can still hear them...
Justice comes,”
Said the voice of the x-ray dog from next door
With a bone in its mouth.
“The sex machine was in a quandary
With her legs up to her ears
For how would she fit into what could never be said?
But not to worry
The menu was written long ago and
Is not up for improvement
And so now we know the difference
Between half a pound of what we don’t have
And the longing to find the fire and jump in
And be burnt to dust
And then come back again as more than we can ever say,”
Said this about the sex machine
Trying to fit it into the story somehow.
“I guess that in the tertiary adjuncts of the mind
Where we wander lost and alone
Re-cycling the masks we wear
Into more durable beliefs
And too
Where redemption is another polished word
Doing the rounds
There are few doors
And none we would choose to enter.
And unless we are blessed by that touch of grace
That enters our hearts
From the secret place
We will wander without sanctuary or a place to rest
And tasting only the meagre scraps
Of what we once thought into being.
How would one fall so low from such heights of privilege?
Perhaps in the unconscious dictations
We let distract us there
Is that which listens and sets into motion
The thoughts that get away from us
And those that just come and go.
Maybe there’s a certain irony in this
That if we could understand what is happening
We could turn it around
And have it work for us
Instead of against us
But how does one capture the quicksilver flowing
Of our wishes to bottle them
For as soon as we see them
They are gone or turned to stone?
I do believe we are best answered
By that inner voice
The one that has always been with us
And in knowing
That the outer questions
Become stepping stones over the little river of life.
60 or 6 then becomes the same,”
Said an old drunk
Who had seen better days
And was just then passing the garden.
“Ah, if only we could bottle it,” said the big fat smile.
The garden was sniggering in the background
And trying not to make a sound.
The baloney sandwich sighed softly
As it went into the gardener’s mouth
To disappear forever.
The x-ray dog and the big fat smile
That were the bones of this story
Met the old drunk
Who was just passing by the garden gate.
“The end of the world is nigh,” he said
And clung to the gate in desperation.
The plastic lateness of an abandoned hour
Moved inexorably
To catch up to all that had been left behind
And as it moved against time
The jaws of a doomed rock and roller
Chomped down on it and bit it in half
So that there were then two pieces of eternity
That couldn’t find their way home from there.
“Join the club,” said a silver dollar
That had been lost for a hundred years
Its voice moved by the doom
Of being in a storm drain for so long
That it had lost all shape of hope.
The hundred years that had grown up
Around the silver dollar groaned:
“Doom, doom,” it said.
And then the doom said: “I’m so tired of you two.”
A packet of soup fell down into the drain
From out of the pocket of a passerby
And the groan shouted in glee: “dinner time.”
They all set upon it hungrily
All except the silver dollar that couldn’t do anything
But watch as the soup was devoured.
The x-ray dog and the big smile together
With the old drunk
Looked to see where all the noise was coming from
But saw nothing out of the ordinary
And so turned their attention to each other
Over the garden gate
To slide this way and that
As the dreaming tumbled them into the sea
Of their aloneness
That crashed upon the shore
Of where they had all ended up.
The old drunk was a scow
Who couldn’t help himself anymore
And had passed through the veils
One after the other
Until there was nothing left but himself
And a pair of rusty boots
Full of holes that couldn’t go any further.
The debt slave of their imputation
Was hanging about near the rubbish pile
Of all this
And hoping to pinch something
To take home and call it a trophy of worth
But the trophy of worth was a pile of dust
On the mantel-piece in the front room
Of an idea that couldn’t go any further either.
“There are more laws than we can break
And all of them were made to protect the privileged
To the detriment of the rest of us,”
Said an ex-government agent
Swimming against the tide and wishing he’d stayed in bed.
“The government is a joke
And if you can’t see it
Then you are lost in their power
Furthermore...” he said
But got no further, as the last of his strength
Ran out and he was washed out to sea.
A man with flowery fingers
And one leg so short his pants rode up his leg to his knee
Had a fixation and was talking to it
As he crossed the road to the other side.
The x-ray dog heard this from the man
As he passed by
And so before any more could be said
Raised a red megaphone to its lips and spoke into it:
“Now hear this, now hear this, there is nothing to say,”
Said the x-ray dog trying to find something to say
Through the red megaphone that was broken.
The megaphone squeaked and said:
“If you can’t be here then be there.”
And then it said no more.
The broken script
Of a seeming stray circus of exclamation points
Began to expound for want of a word
To explain the concept
That had no word of explanation
And so became lost in all the other words
That came along to fill the vacuum.
Along the seventh parallel
Of this blue moon of a thought
That was cave diving under the waves
In and out of the luxury
Of a good stroll in the park
And surrounded by all the ghosts
Of old ideas
Where the quartermaster could not be found
To account for the exception
That was trying to get in and say something, where
Under the floorboards of all this
The crazy gang were holding down the concept
That could explain everything.
The concept was struggling mightily
But it was no use
There was no escape for it
At least not in this story, maybe the next one.
The x-ray dog and the big fat smile
Held hands as a rumble shook the ground.
It was a rumble
That had come all the way from the far reaches of this story
And was on a mission to devour everything from within.
Closer and closer rumbled the rumble
Until it could go no more
And then without a backward glance
The rumble turned into a sinkhole
That swallowed everything down into its black depths
That was so deep that not even a word
Could escape
Except one burp to show its appreciation.
“And the moral of this story is:
There’s always something to appreciate
If you look hard enough for it
And sometimes even when you don’t look.
And so I hope this explains it all to you,
”Said the bread and dripping of this story
Disappearing into the annals of history
Where all stories end up
Sooner or later.

Image from Pixabay