the vozhd of bedlam

i was an attendant
at a mental hospital
i had my very own key
i’d wear a white coat
i’d carry a clipboard
nick all my pens for free

’twas my solemn duty
to make them hot cocoa
and play the odd dvd
and every so often
give a cleansing clyster
maybe massage a knee

each and every sunday
became known as bath day
i’d drown every nit and flea
but every time they saw me
those violent orderlies
would catch me, take away my key

they’d put me in a straitjacket
and ply me with laxatives
they’d ruin my power spree
they gagged my threats to denazify
with special military ops
i’m putin, don’t fuck with me

the vozhd of bedlam

by TETIANA ALEKSINA & TONY SINGLE
© All rights reserved 2022

GUEST POST // Greatest Song Ever Written by Tony Brown

suppose you stop snickering
and get shut of the need
to scorn those folks over there
fingering slipcovers
in the discount aisle
talking only to each other
when they speak of
perfection and how well
these would go with
the drapes in the front room

and suppose
you quit sneering at those
who proclaim their love
for the Beatles as you cannot
distinguish between
an emotional bond to their
soundtrack of a lifetime
and your own decidedly
up-to-the-minute
lasting-maybe-a-minute
enthusiasm for whatever minute
you find yourself in
(unless
of course
it hits you
RIGHT THERE
like a never-ending
cryogenic block
on your future)

and suppose
you get your head
out of whatever fragrant
arrogant nook
you keep it in
and see yourself
years from now
dressed fifteen years
too early for retro fashion
choosing from cheap mirrors
in a bargain aisle
while humming
yesterday’s
greatest song ever written

by TONY BROWN
© All rights reserved 2022

TATI’s & TONY’s DEAD POET TOUR // Solitude. by Ella Wheeler Wilcox

Laugh, and the world laughs with you;
Weep, and you weep alone;
For the sad old earth must borrow its mirth,
But has trouble enough of its own.
Sing, and the hills will answer;
Sigh, it is lost on the air;
The echoes bound to a joyful sound,
But shrink from voicing care.

Rejoice, and men will seek you;
Grieve, and they turn and go;
They want full measure of all your pleasure,
But they do not need your woe.
Be glad, and your friends are many;
Be sad, and you lose them all;
There are none to decline your nectar’d wine,
But alone you must drink life’s gall.

Feast, and your halls are crowded;
Fast, and the world goes by.
Succeed and give, and it helps you live,
But no man can help you die.
There is room in the halls of pleasure
For a large and lordly train,
But one by one we must all file on
Through the narrow aisles of pain.

by ELLA WHEELER WILCOX (1855-1919)
Public Domain Poetry

phthalovision

air is especially fancy tonight
violet and green
a beatific palette of dappled light
both seen and unseen

my breath is deep, mind is still, and now
all is colour and chime
a local chemical plant, take a bow
for my zen inspiration respiration time

phthalo dreams

by TETIANA ALEKSINA
© All rights reserved 2022