February 19, 2017
Jen Coleman, Alison Dennis & Chris Piuma
There's a selfish drift in the mist.
Its Lemmy from the abyss.
The bass-tone front man spawns in our midst
and plays hard HARD again and he's Motörhead
wrapped in the invisible hair of a thousand thousand women
that are all Lilith, all one Lilith, who has caught
Lemmy in a single pair of yellow eyes
and held him unblinking, drawn into her snake arms,
rocking him heavier than a mother can bear.
Lilith who will tear any leather-clad rocker
out of the life he clings to by the skin of his teeth
and bed him in the ether, bed him on the rock
that makes Gene Simmons and Henry Rollins
and Alice Cooper rockers with hearts and lungs,
rockers who Lilith will whisper to in sacred syllables
how a rock god is but a dog a rock dog a dogged animal
rocking the ether with a proper pleasure.
Who would rock the ether with selfish hedonist's would-be sacred syllables
but Lemmy the rock dog a dogged animal
who Lilith will bed out of the leather-
clad life wrapped in her invisible hair,
all the dogged rockers in her hair and only just one
bass-tone front man spawned in the mist.
Lemmy from the abyss.
[below: "Ars Poetica" by Chris Piuma]