It’s kind of strange… but then, most nightmares are.
I step through the portal of light.
Momentarily blinded, I
Find myself on my knees, retching
From the journey. I didn’t die
But I doubt I feel much better
Than I would have, had I done so.
I look around and all I see
Are busts of Marilyn Monroe
Smiling down, just like the Virgin
Mary would if she was granite.
The crowd of Virgin Marilyns
Are planning to drive the planet
From its orbit with the power
Of their minds, and they surround
Me, singing songs about champagne
And slinging some smelly herb (ground
With their heads) from a big glassy
Bowl that looks like some kid’s marble
Shooter grown big and cut in half.
But they’re drunk and only garble
The words, so all I hear is just
Gravel on a tin roof—rusted.
The love shack of the love goddess
Rumbles, and the words get busted
Like piñatas and spill still more
Nasty herbs over us, and when
It hits the Virgin Marilyns,
They all turn into girly men
Statues in pleated white dresses.
Now they’re growing, and with voices
That echo like deep hollow wells
They say, “Of all the bad choices
We’ve made, this takes the cake!” My heart
Pounds—I’m standing in Golum town,
Sweating bullets… then I wake up.
I won’t sleep till I “column” down.