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SANTA LUCIA, or the Natural Result of Wishing
Santa Lucia was a right ecstatic dame. When the Romans had her captured, She would not tell them her name. But she babbled like a loony, While the Romans tied her tight. And the Lions in the bullpen knew that they would eat that night.
The coliseum crowd was restless on that day, The announcers in the pressbox didn't know just what to say. The soldiers in the grandstands stood shifting side to side, while Lucy's doomed compatriots looked for a place to hide.
Formulating strategy was never Lucy's game. She figured suff'ring martyrdom was her quickest way to fame. And the newly formed religion was getting lots of press and she liked the thought of sacrifice, although lions make a mess....
The night before, the ratings showed the Christians making gains and the Pope visited Lucy while disguised, (the Pope had Brains). Il Papa told Saint Lucy, "babe, you're gonna be a star." "And between you and these ornaments, this religion should go far."
As game time neared, contestants shook at thinking on their fate The Pope, like any businessman, Was negotiating Gate. Now Caesar showed up early, since he found a place to park but his entourage was left behind to stay at home 'till dark.
The time had come, the feature show, Saint Lucy took her stand. And Caesar, like a gentleman, said "Give the girl a hand." The lions all were drooling and the Pope now took his chair While the councils of the churchmen tried to figure out their share.
The ringside seats were all filled up, the referee stood firm The lions roared in three-four time, the Pope began to squirm They led her out, our Sainted girl To feed the crowd's blood lust, and on the side of Caesar's helm Were the words, "In God We Trust."
They tied her to a center pole and fastened her so tight that Lucy wanted nothing more than to be devoured that night. They let them out, the Lions pounced 'twas over very soon. And naught was left of Lucy But the blood-reflected moon.
And now the Pope with Caesar sits, their power now is one. And churchmen that had once known grace Were more interested in fun. The people, having given thanks, Were leaving down the aisles, and all that one could see upon their faces were wild smiles.
In heaven, hell or purgat'ry it still remains the same In letting Lions eat your guts, you might ensure your fame. But tell me, Lucy, was it worth the hours of fear and dread? Lucy tells me, "kiddo, I Would rather stay in bed."
So sacrifice ain't all it's said to be, you know I'm right. And churchmen, politicians too Go scream in empty night. 'Cause when they come and ask you, "friend just give a little more." Remember Lucy, now in bed, and listen to her snore.
I DON'T KNOW WHAT HAPPENED January 1992
I take moments and explain to darkness why I sing a dull song and, turning moments into years, hasten to my own funeral.
Oh King Lear, you old-old man, listen to my whispers like you, I gave up substance, but cannot shake form like you, I wander through a wind-torn landscape, vainly trying to be warm like you, I spurned what I love most, thinking it to love me least like you, I have to face and kill the self-deluding beast.
Afternoons spent in office-death, a fluorescent tomb holding life from a flesh and blood womb, but financing momentary escape from ennui is reason enough to live in a fluorescent tomb.
Sic rapid-transit gloria mundi, watch another game on sunday.
Oh my ancient ancestors, forgive my residence on top of evolution's chain-link, barbed wire fence. Sitting at the crest of creative man's ascent I laugh at the supporting torment.
Sic rapid-transit gloria mundi, I've given up on what you gave me.
I ache from underuse, a phantom-limb called satisfaction itches where it don't exist. My desires are in traction, put on hold for no good reason save survival I hunt dangerous butterflies.
Sic rapid-transit gloria mundi Make another call to Wendy
I call the omniscient her and she sweetly assenting to a call for delidelideli and warmth and unspoken nodding and knowing and we live in the other's mind, but know it can't be more than a month-to month lease.
Sic rapid-transit gloria mundi, her tendency to nothing stunned me.
At five o'clock the bells ring, whistle blows and free breathing masses unlock themselves from the cheshire boss smiling with abandon and writhing with responsibility clutching slips of paper that betray their humanity
Sic rapid-transit gloria mundi, free breathing masses have outrun me Six o'clock and sleep begs the questionable can't sleep, can't stay alert, a shot of coffee would.....hurt. When should I pay attention to the daily grind as presented by my glass-plastic God.
Sic rapid-transit gloria mundi quiet please, world eight has shunned me.
Seven o'clock, we're heeeeeere, a chirping dog heralds our arrival. Cheese please, Ice Tea-water and poultry all including crunch-creamy former frozen spudnuggets A pile of rusty hair, breaching like Moby Dick, sits atop the she-dog eyes of Beelzebub's favorite waitress and her eyebrows really do sneer.
Seven-thirty rings in trashtime, tubeist rantings on abbynormal psychedout titilated tabloid toothsome lookers. The next table samples this fare and wild eyed, the minions pant. I salt my fries, add tabasco to the Hunts and eagerly await the onset of eight o'clock.
Freaked-out minions gathering bounty for the upcoming coming out party to honor those that backed away from stands that made their fortunes sway.
Sic rapid-transit gloria mundi, the freaked-out minions have outgunned me
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