The Linguini Ballroom

The Linguini Ballroom is a black and blue champagne glass, the bubbles being elevators to space

The Linguini Ballroom
is a black and blue champagne glass
the bubbles being elevators to space
the crystal reflections being the light
the people spinning lovely
my heart-wrenching demise —
the parquet floor of time
is a long-bedazzled square
of lines and rituals carved in it
greasy secret codes
and polished roadmaps to secrets and sand
one must step lightly on the floor
for it is slick and one could slip
spilling their brains
all over the barn —
I had to get outside the Linguini Ballroom
sit on a bench
smoke some rope
try to get my heart to stop beating
it’s wrinkling my roughshod tux
looking like my little green jeans
muddy and torn
as I spun like a wheel
on the oceanside roundabout
years ago…
Before the wind dragged me back inside
the Linguini Ballroom
and the liquid slide
and the rhythm of the jazz
is all hyped up and pounding
the feet are all slapping the floor
dreary teeth are spitting
limbs are making me dizzy,
the way they spin is so criminal
and I pound my fists
against the gold, velour wallpaper
and it’s soft like cloth
and no one can hear me begging to escape
from the madness of
the Linguini Ballroom —
and a cold mountain of snow
crowned by a ring of trees
comes to my aid
ever so suddenly
and it’s depression on snowshoes
looking for an ice spear
to shed a tear
across blue-black veins freezing
and down the hill
rests a little town
and the sign says Damnation
and it’s straight to the whiskey bar I go like Jim
and family portraits are nothing but piss
and winter sweat
and I drown in the rollback stitches
tearing down my spine…
And someone taps my bowed head
seems I’m back at the phone booth
cradled behind the glass
to keep the mad steps away
swirling lavishly
beneath bee lights
of the Linguini Ballroom
dripping cancer and JFK —
eyes drooped so low
I push the doors aside
and take my stride
to the gun cabinet
tucked neatly back
in the Linguini Ballroom vault
reach out for a magnum sunflower
a golden crown of velvet peace
take my stance on the mossy drawbridge
and blow all the wishes from the stage, to send the spores to Heaven’s edge.

Your thoughts?


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