Prozac Nation. - (longish poem)

Is it a little green bag or a little green pill, Alice?

Gotta find some kind of sister kind

You’ve trespassed and surpassed most boundaries

Making blunders and bypassing foundries

Because you never seem to get enough rest in

Jew eyes might’ve read you but never did listen,

Even then, lines were skimmed & no one listened,  

Now you know that stars are just ghosts

And there’s no sense in wishin’.

Your heart – a French crimson balloon

And the boys don’t swoon anymore like they used to

Shoes break you, your arches are like a London Bridge

So many sighs are falling

While no signs are coming

No one’s calling, no one’s there to forgive

So busy not dying, forgot how to live

Screaming from a rabbit hole

Holy water & blood

Would they hear your cries through the flood?

Are you brooding alone again, Alice?

Are you in your ivory tower or glass palace?

Are you steady on your balance beam,

                Or have you lost your valance?

Didn’t need a codex or a decoder

                Your sisterhood is scrambled &

Completely out of order.

This court of crows

Would never condemn their murder

The last thing you want

Is another listless sitcom

Or tasteless burger

That electric typewriter is gone

You gave it to George the recovered heroin addict when you lived in Lakewood because he was a poet too

And he recited one to you

Alice, did you lose the game rules?

How can you be sore and unbruised?

How can you be so spent when you’re unused?

How long you gonna be a kid ruining the soles of your shoes?

Who cut the breaks on you?

Why you askin’ so many taxin’ questions…

…in your delicate state.

All those brahs thought you was just one of ‘em hoes to gyrate

And Skygate might be the only God you now know;

Alice, are you bigger or smaller now?

Did ya’ find Dinah a dahlia?

A keyhole to fit through?

Did it taste funny, that mushroom?

And to think, all Cinderella had to do

                was loose a fucking shoe.

Miss Jackson

That’s the way love goes, 

nasty boy 

but what have you done for me lately?

Call ya’ Neil Armstrong with the way you get me spacey.

I’m twirling in the purple rain and it tastes like grape Nerds,

Skimming through the names, all the blurbs are words.

In the latter days, boys on the ladder had ways

Of making you consider pleasures

From candlelight to scissors.

But now the pandemic is epidemic and not even the panopticon can see me through.

The Veronicas covered The Scorpions,

The Simpsons became The Sopranos,

Everywhere I go, gotta be on the lookout for

Dropping pianoes.  

I could blame it on Dingoes but there was no baby to consume,

Guess it was just at an early age I heard

The call of the loon.

     And then he walks in from the other room…