the dim graveyard mist
the long grey cadillacs purr by,
their windows blacked out,
grey hoods rolled up.
Hooded eyes behind shades,
A thick Havana haze.
in the crack house, down on Lonely Street,
In the Ghetto where the Devil's in disguise,
An off duty hooker prostrates herself
Before the frozen
Image of The King...
The upturned eyebrow,
Guitar slung low,
Hips in sideways sway,
Hair shining in sleek black light,
Mouthing the words:
word is out:
The King is risen
have been made:
rights have gone exclusively
To Coca-Cola. A syndicated worldwide network TV deal
Has been clinched.
Already, the armies of mechanical diggers
Are approaching, ready to rock, ready to roll
Into mountains of crushed cans
and styrofoam cartons,
each one emblazoned with the sacred logo
across the face of The Risen One.
He will walk again,
Bathed in artificial light,
Laser beams and fireworks
Mouse, Michael Jackson, Madonna