LEONARD

Cohen is a King of Poetry...


fuck Academia

and their approved vasemakers


their art is trivial beyond consumption

fit only for high-minded liars


who'll write a poem to your suffering

while you sink into the bog...


Leonard got loose

Leonard got free


and he's lived a real life

at the mercy of border guards


and chiseling managers

and nights in prisons of heart and cunt


he knows the root where spirit and flesh

tussle in a holy scrimmage


wherever every slip could deliver you

to an abyss or the Almighty


Leonard I see you shining

on a holy mountain of merde


trying to lure the energy of certain saps

out of the ground these bodies will embrace


after every stratagem fails

and all that soothes the pain is the burn of desire


transmuted to aspiration for the eternal machinery

grinding out the processes that give us


our fields of memory where we were love in action

now as Leonard winds down in his time


I see a glowing around his body that suggests

his beginning to take shape and his crown


left for his progeny who will aspire and pass after him

let's hope God will be gladened by his arrival


I'll follow soon with a mouthful of song

I could never quite manage before


a King of Poetry paving our way for us...



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