Late Night Dream Vol. 3

Down by the river where the painted
birds sing the white dove reigns as the
willows hang their heads weeping ask
not for whom the bell rings, it tolls for
thee, verily, you can’t relive the past
tomorrow is a dream and this magic
moment is extraordinary where the
Kingdom is at hand, as red skies in
the morning over rule the best laid
schemes of half-assed drunken sailors,
divorcees and grooms left standing at
the altar as genuflecting children get
undone by evil doers cloaked as men
of the cloth in white linen unforgiven
is the harm done to young ones or so
the man said and every hair on every
head is numbered and so is every day
meanwhile, late last night a talking
camel said let it be which is ridiculous
since camels don’t talk nor do thieves
or so it used to be that was the code of
the street and every neighborhood punk
who ever wanted to be a shit kicker which
is just about everyone even the President
yearns to kick some ass but he be soundin
so crass like Lenny Bruce or Leroy Brown
from the south side of town now flying in
rarified air like the emperor with new clothes
or Nero and his fiddle in the ultimate days
of Rome burn baby burn like Chicago back
in nineteen sixty-eight, one, two, three, four,
five, six, seven, all good children go to
heaven while some remain in Exodus with
baskets of fishes and loaves unleavened