There Ain' No Talent Here

There ain’ no talent here
My dear
No genius
(What?)
No knack
(Say what?)
No gushing spring
No panties sheer
Fo’ sho’
Dat’s clear
No pop da top
Down in th’ shack
Just panic
Angst
Da slack attack
That bloozey muse
Got whacked
Cheap bitch
Dat random sleeze
She tease’
Jus’ like an itch
I know she is
Dead river bed
The ditch is packed wit
Stones an’ grit
No spit
No jizz
You bes’ believe
Cold bitch is stacked
Her hair all
Mousey frizz
She give dull head
Yeah
Cracked
This endless plain
That’s all full up
With bored disdain
Don’ jerk my chain
Or work my pain
This world’s one
Moaning drone
Eternal
Freight-car train
I cain’ turn back
So sorry that I
Came
Insane
There ain’
No talent here,
I fear,
I plod the trod
No verve
To serve
Jus’ stumble
Bumble,
Pavement crumble
Stagger as I swerve
Jus’ one dumb foot
(I lost my nerve)
An’ then the other
Holy Mother
Taste my fear
There ain’ no talent
Here
There ain’ no comfort
Here
My dear
Jus’ shame
Accusing pointing
Blame
Yeah
Dehydrated
Writhing
Craving rain
Your dowdy dancin’
Drunken dress is
Stained
Matriculated
Calculated
Plain
Tin snip cut
You slut
Emasculated
Sand-dune of the
Mind
Echolalia
La-la
Keeping time
Dry mummies stagger
Dirks and gaggers
Scattered ‘cross the floor
They cry
They roar
They scream for more
Jus’ one club foot
An’ then the clumsy other
Holy Mother
Taste my fear
There ain’ no
Talent here
My dear
There ain’ no
Talent
Ain’ no
Here
Ain’ no
Ain’t
Originate
But it’s too late
We diddled
With our fiddles
While the greedy
Masses ate and
As the swollen,
Rollin’
Streamin’ flowed
We glowed
And so
Did all
We know
Evaporate
Got on our bikes
An’ rode
We sissy priests
Pontificate
We consecrate
The dull ingrate
Who sits and counts
This sand
This slate
One grain by stinkin'
Grain
This silicon and glass
This funeral in my
Hand
This swipe
Across my ass
We never planned
This flannel fugue
This cotton ball
We can’t recall
With certitude
The reason
Or the season
Why we came
To here
Unclear
How did we,
Why?
And then,
Like,
Wow,
Can we get out?
And when
Or how?
This non-artistic lie
This mush of shapes
So hot
So dry
Forgotten tomes
White bones
And muted
Earth tones
No ice cream cones
Go home, Jones
Sick gnome
Get off alone
Bitch moans
Attention roams
No focal point
We’re all too stoned
The lizard needs to
Eat its brother
Holy Mother
No quenching silence
All the while
And yet,
No noise,
Just boring,
Aching
Lack of poise
Just artless
Farting slobs
With hackneyed toys
Fratricidal child
Profound
We fall far short
We tumble,
Bumble, stumble
Down
We sail into the port
And drown
Then through the canyon
Full of ire
A prophet came
(And came)
All passion
Vengeance
Fire
Mountains thundered
The living desire
And stones were flesh
And flesh was life
And life was an army
Of soldiers
Slashing knives
Who would fight
All night
And multiply the fright
Divide
And conquer with
Licentious delight
The ascendance of
Their God
The "true" religion
And honor
And the stones became flesh
Engendered slaves
Who wear their collars
Yep
Right here
In this same canyon
For thousands of years
The righteous
The chosen
Were focused and clear
But now
Only now
I taste the
Rising fear
They have their God
I plug and plod
There ain’ no
Talent here
Jus’ one foot
Then the tripping
Other
Holy Mother
Jus’ ain’ no
Talent here.