the parade

the parade


malevolent black birds
with crocodile heads
perch upon wooden veins
under burning bridges

naked oaks loom above
like arc angels
guarding the pathway
of our dreams

the barber is in
snip, snip, sniping,
as he spits out his
fingers on to the floor

a junkie leans back
in the barber's chair
pushing the last bit
of freedom in to her arm

the show has ended and
the fat lady is in the corner
with her mouth open wide
but cannot sing

plates spin on sticks
in crystal glasses
where  polar bears
balance on tiny balls

little white rabbits tear
out the throats
of the alley cats
while the dogs of war
knock off the poor

Jesus plays the piano
like a mad man
on the precipice
of mankind

hobos and hookers
dance in the streets 
as the preachers and priests
run for their lives

and it's only Tuesday