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DAda.ism is Dead
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To the Public-eye still searching
Where rake-thin heroes fight State-windmills
Skull whiteness, ground to paste, dust and ashes
Intelligent newsmen who have TV-masks
No stomach for bone-meal porridge
In other words, all the fine qualities of sniffing dogs
On the isles of some priestess dream voyage
Of cannibal-nymphs with sharpened teeth and daggers
Ordered to impose exile on the Free-State-Erection
To the mystical fiddle-bows, music of lesbian-thieves,
To withhold, all the rough trade necessary
For the anti-timid repercussions of this universe
The privilege to be the great actor, or artist-saint
In this jungle state of hip-hop corruption
To feast beside hairy swine, in the trough of sweetness
To be banished by the jokers and moneyed folks
Who sit on porcelain toilets like you and me
The straight faced who make honey waste-products
And the same unblemished laws, and rational-equations,
Onward to thy Holy-perfection of the daily quest
Humanity deserves to have a bath in petrol-bombs
With deep-fried spirits to be baptized in fusion-fire,
Filth cleansed from the decaying orbits of U-242
By rebellious old perverse Roman-generals
Their unanimous gratitude given to you as a gift
The sword in the guts with a twist, crucifixion
To you....... who are always in the right
And we who never get it right
Writing this final-examination:
Surprised: that all the answers where false
To the Anti-Faithful version, of what is true?
To the quick look of Nature's opinion
Which is always the winner, in the race of time
The resultant is not so important said the absurd one
In the long run where non-action means zero
Just the struggle, as the means, the little Red-book
To what is the Last-long-question
What is the true Manifesto. For Dada is truly Dead.
-LL-©
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