Number four of George Carlin’s ‘Seven Dirty Words’
Drawing on ‘Dance of the Seven Veils’ from Exile in Guyville by Liz Phair. With (more) apologies...
A prophet rolls in on the wind and dust
that cakes the court and chokes all idle chatter ‒
a burning pilgrim laying bare the matter
of piety, society and trust.
So dance your dance and claim a gift that must
both lift the otherworldly veils and shatter ‒
a gift upon a heavy silver platter,
your gift of pain and joy, of dream and lust.
Then Johnny, you could rent me by the hour ‒
I’d open up just like some precious flower
whose scent may cause a man to lose his head,
but all that eyes and heart and tongue devour
will never get to grace our marriage bower ‒
‘cause Johnny, my love, you’re already dead.
RJT
No comments:
Post a Comment