The Agora’s lobby ventilation system was inoperable
Evidenced by the dense blue haze of smoke
The attending avant-garde crowd.
Leopard girls with blackened eye mascara
Applied with a caulking gun
And knew all the words verbatim.
Back stage a silver spoon full of
China White heroin…
The mood of choice…
And a bottle of Jack Daniels,
Were being passed around by the band
To incarnate their spirit.
There was no front band.
At Eight-twenty a sweaty leather-pant zombie
Standing with eyes glazed over
And Sampson-like curls
Took over the spotlight.
“When I was back there in seminary school…
There was a person there
Who put forth the proposition…” he began.
An urchin rebel prophetising;
Transforming the wild whores
In attendance as they began
Lip-syncing his words.
Riot police stood waiting in the wings.
With long phallic-like nightsticks…
Irony in hand.
At the theatre of copulation.
How does one become…a lizard king
With the “maids in the hallway bickering?”
The drug-binged haruspex
Began chanting about a blood-red river…
and rainbowed pagodas;
While the arena filled up with poetic dissonance
And the acrid smell of hashish.
Ride the snake…
The “men-in-blue” moved into position
To restrain and control
…the soft asylum.