Album of My Years

I walked In Through the Out Door,
Wandered winding roads
Into August and Everything After
Gave tuppence
To The Temple of Low Men
Just Throwing Copper
Maybe the painted Juke Joint Jezebels
Could afford a Facelift.

Little Earthquakes shook my foundations
“Achtung Baby!!!”
The Wall is falling down
Crash Into Me
Maybe we can fix it
With a Monkeywrench
Give it new Color and Shape.

A lonely Minstrel In The Gallery
Rode off on Heavy Horses
Unfortunately he left his Aqualung
Too bad he was Thick as a Brick
He came Back in Black
Up the long Highway to Hell
Selling Dirty Deeds Done Dirt Cheap
I had to salute him
For he was About To Rock.

So I was left wondering “Who’s Next”
When along came the junk man
With his Swordfishtrombone
Trailing Rain Dogs
Standing vaguely at the corner
Of Heartattack and Vine
Rattling Small Change
Off into The Heart of Saturday Night
Falling off the curb
Down the throat of The Bone Machine.

Avenues of Joshua Trees
Rattle and Hummed
Jingle jangle following my footsteps
Back along the months
I spent Five Days In May
Fully Completely
Recovering The Satellites
Spent a Long December
In The Chelsea Hotel
Wearing through my Famous Blue Raincoat.

Kiss Me Kiss Me Kiss Me
Into a Downward Spiral
Of Disintegration
All you Pretty Hate Machines
You Violaters
Carrying Sixteen Stone
Razor Blade Suitcases
Looking back
Into your Cracked Rear View
Waiting for The Man to Come Around.

You’ll be Waiting for the End of the World
Punch The Clock
In the Imperial Bedroom
My Aim is True
Since I joined the Armed Forces
Found new ways to Get Happy!!!
Using This Years Model
Adorned and groaning
Beneath The Weight
Of All This Useless Beauty.

I fell down at last
Singing Songs From The Big Chair
In the little house on Abby Road
Finding happiness in a Revolver
And a bright yellow Rubber Soul
Clearing up the mess left
By Sgt. Pepper’s Band
Picking up empty crisp packets
With Sticky Fingers
Sweeping the refuse and ribbons
Under the doormat
To the Houses of the Holy.

Automatically For the People
I drove off, always Born to Run
Across the Darkness at the Edge of Town
Like a Bat Out of Hell
Burning high octane Orange Crush
Blood Sugar Sex Magic
Won’t even come off with Bleac
Jane says
But all I could muster
Was a listless “oh well, Nevermind”


4 Responses to “Album of My Years”

  1. funk is its own reward (G. Clinton)

  2. Highly entertaining!

  3. Like a favourite piece of music, enjoy listening repeatedly.
    How many albums/songs appear in the poem?

  4. confewsh us Says:

    Does poetry cause star clicking? Or, is it the other way around?

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