Neil Young's ‘I'm a vampire, baby,
Sucking blood from the earth’
Is my biography,
Duller than a youth revivalist epiphany.
Where did the promised good times go?
Imaginary blood flows through microscopic portals
Building fever dry as a summer gnat’s ass.
Tumult and sturm, fro and wobbly-peg, ministers
Of archival proof where dungeon remnants
Float like abalone in a sea of geritol
Ruminative of ripped page-tracts, exclamation marks
Referring to St Mark and Corinthian Paul
On the make for disciples in makeshift loin cloths
Fashioned from parched tea leaves
Whose thin-veined parchment cracks in red history.