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For Charley & Pam

“They keep dropping them off”

The cats, you say 

But you were always collecting strays

And now they’ve come to you 

with their bellies and their purrs

I have seen some feral cats

And they do not act like that – 

Must be something special in the air 🙂

***

The cats have claimed Plymell Station 

Not the one from the folds of history

Where the wayward and ambitious 

Wound their way westward ho

But the one in Cherry Valley 

Where the poets thought to go

***

You bought the oldest house in town

The stone is gray and all worn down

Kids with metal detectors come around 

But to live in an ancient house 

Makes one seem young by comparison

***

The kid found a King George coin

But there are far more treasures here

And you know EXACTLY where each one lies

On the dusty bookshelves and in the files

Or dancing Rockabilly on the screen

With a grin as wide as Kansas

And eyes are bright as the Prairie sky

***

You say the cats have souls

I think a kindred soul – for you

Must know how it is to go away from home 

All alone with that brand new car

A future stevedore

A future publisher with very specific memories 

of collating and collating and collating

***

A reluctant academic

Yep, someone found you out there and reeled you in

And so Plymell Station moved East

Where you kept collecting strays

Stray writers, stray musicians, stray students

Stray words, stray phrases, stray images 

First a sword, a Bedouin sword 

given to Pam’s Dad in 

World War II, a Brass sculpture

with the great, big crystal,

Then the paintings on the walls, 

And the carefully wrapped elegies

And the glorious, furious verses, new and old

And the diploma 🙂

***

You were always collecting strays

And that was me back then

And I’ve come to you again

Another beat in time

A Plymell Station    

of the mind.

Nuclear Christ 

for Mr.  Norman David Mayer

I.

“I have a bomb! I have a friend!

    We’re gonna die! Stop to pretend!

    Why don’t you listen to me”

    This was Norman Mayer’s plea.

    We’ve lost control of ourselves

    Like masturbating giants

    Getting off on death –

    We worship the weapons, we

    Count them like toys, we

    Cannot decide and we

    Will not listen, Mr. Mayer

    Must die to show this 

    World, this shot dear world –

    He was sixty-six, old and angry not mad –

    He could not escape the shackles 

    Linking all of us together –

    Of course you can die, it was

    A good day to die, Mr.

    Norman David Mayer, hating

    Like a Nuclear War, his

    Ashes smoulder still in 

    Arlington National Garden.

    II.

    He wandered and tried, failed, and tried

    Consumed by desire and the Greatest

    Fire the World was going to see

    His parting – dies as he

    Lies bleeding: “I have a Bomb!”

    His baby blue snowsuit all a mess

    He didn’t expect to make it anyway and

    He dies because we love Death 

    No large surprise He dressed

    Like Superman or Captain America –

    Mr. Norman David Mayer was

    Labeled insane by authorities

    Who think they are sane but

    Aid the ones with the evil keys to

    This massive prison we call Home –

    A van full of Air and Will He

    Was there at the biggest

    Phallic Symbol of them all,

    It looks like a missile How

    Sleek and defined – Pointed 

    At God – Now, what

    Do they have in mind?

    III.

    “I have a Nightmare” Three

    Years on a beach on an

    Island smoking dope Do you

    Think that made him crazy now?

    Most would say content He

    Only knew there’s no escape 

    No matter where he ran away

    So he moved on through his life as we

    Cranked the rack The

    Walls grow larger He was torn

    And He waited and He hated and

    He saved like none of us could –

    And he gave his life for 

    Something Undisputably Good you

    Know He’s right because this

    Very second the Bombs are ticking

    Atoms splitting Tomorrow we

    May join Him The newspaper 

    Headline reads “A Victim of an

    Unyielding Will” His flesh was 

    Mortal yet his spirit sails on until…

    Now available again – the revamped version of the revamped version of the original from 1983… it’s safe to say that this song has finally arrived! While “Anarchy Love has the slowest tempo of any other Submensa song, the power comes through as each point in this meditation on love floats on Jim’s ethereal volume pedal before shattering like glass into a thousand echoes. The lyric and vocal delivery of this song is a reflection of a life’s work – begun as a young man, revised in middle age, culminating now in a true epiphany gained from a life lived. Punk rock is the best mode of expression, ever!