Chris Walker Benefit_SGH_12.29.07

Chris Walker Benefit_SGH_12.29.07

Featured Writer Semantikon October 07

*S-E-M-A-N-T-I-K-O-N
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Master is the Mind Blaster

Master is the fix’d a blaster
Keep your ass up
arms out while they go for fisticuffs
Pure the sauce as they meld the mind mold
Got the story sold for 6 figures- box a cheerios
They told you this was the land of dirty-tini’s
that school’d the wise and the Great Santini
Don’t believe me
Watch me queasy
Get all the potent swords and chop down the pretty scenery
Do the plot pitches like it’s the no buizzes
Once told the storyteller just how he lives
Gave him two drinks and sent him to his kids
They sour you like horny tryptophan- screw the man
Me got the eye that make it go all stinko
Like the word daddio but me in the lab and I’ll kill polio
Watch the dark that reaches out from the darkness
Go to Loch Ness find the ugly lizard and teach him the stress
On the patter that tread to fill
killed old buffalo bill
as they dance the nine and drink the nasty swill
Was the war stories - the troubadour show
Made the mad money on machines and the funky go-go
It dirty laundry
Now they’re on to me
Got to pound the squeezebox and give me the seda-give
How do you live
Head is like a sieve
Upped the tempo
Stand akimbo
Then crush the studio like Bergeron and go to zombie limbo
Horse feathers and umbrellas
The sunny day girls mix it up with the funny fella’s
get stellar and stellar as they disco dance
like the place in France were the boys look like girls
and lust a gothic trance
Do the last tango
Eat your fat dango
Play it till the fingers bleed and scream Arpeggio
This is the story
and the story is on the done
Master is the mind blaster
Don’t forget you pun

Ode to a Flip-Flop

Where did you go?

Seasop

Hung from your suicide shoulder
call the drowned day mothers’
Forgets are full on spilt
as they have you kissing the gunner's daughter -

On ocean scandal crimp
make a hard take
through the corral
Dirty angels comb blessed hair for the thousandth year

Wave from shoreline
braves the salt October
when pennywise lovers
would dare armada’s to crumble

Barren on the listless metropolitan floor
The petty drones air-raid
megaphones to the siege that
never really was nor will be

Seasoned belly cursed jawbone
for shiners teased a dead-man’s soul
while the girls hustle you for change
and your last American hope.

Cleansed in Waters
Birth the last Bull of Barney
The heaven is on its first holiday
Plagued regret no more….

Funny

Off to Montreal to be a plumber it hit me like a shiny diamond: I have no fur coats to wrap my stability around. So, we shove hot coals into our pockets and pretend to be hired hands. So much trouble, so much trouble. They whistled contemporaneous at an incredibly low bray as to bring my crap to a frigid drawl. It was very dated and pathetic. I use to sweep at amazingly high chores with a love that only a serpent could know. Now the devils and deary me-me’s plant a brutal unknown that will curse you for years. You complain as the old nurses emaciate frumpy dreams while the aeroplanes scream new religions over skyward allow'd to capture the stillroom with actors and lovers in drag praying by the bedside. It is on the wince when the late day dangles you a midnight that you discover; You should have been a miracle worker. The plant has closed but the smell of old news still lingers round this tedious town and all that’s left are porches and trash-cans. Some day you will remember these small little moments like the time you forgot my birthday and scrambled small tiny trinkets from the local bodega. Useless things yes, but they hold such memories to me. You may laugh or cuss but soon these will be the only things you’ll cherish. It is the hard scowl when realized that you are dancing with the dead dog night as many things grab you at the four in the morning spin…. Trusted and chemical fitted to be something you wish to hold on to. To stagger home in the afternoon on the trail of tears is a fate worse than death. Pompous to the slammed world and awkward streets this is your last great call. It is as loud and thunderous as teddy-bears given to girls at late night pizza shops. Now you are really on the shuffling binge.

Fisted

To the clown:
Fisted by society
by fathers
by mothers
to burn dreadfully bright for ungrateful children
They eat alone in very dark rooms

I think we should live in the mountains at high altitudes

Poor fat fatty fat fat Hemingway
as he lay in the shit broth tub
Moan the hill-billie blues like the captain of a sludge tanker
Poor old fat Hemingway fat fatty fat
Use to be the goo-goo in a bright
humping Paris
Now the arm wrestling king
of Sloppy Joe Island
No more boys to molest
No more booze to throw-up
No bulls to fuck
Just watching the rain in hell.

Lab

Why have the qualms of my lost barber, whose stolen skin made eager prancing on the mince of hopheads. This is not the choking of gaunt horses that flail onto the skull of my sweetest bizarre. Lovely damnation pecking on the faded tattoos of your late night adolescence purge, the petty a most intrepid affair. It commands dramatic somatic intention dementia dailies serpentine notion with diseased pirates groping the last punk-rock-girl right out of town. Plagued guardian shakes the loose tooth beggarly on common tattered trauma. Pounding through the achy market square on a devil’s promenade boogie in the dreamers that lay soiled under the antique nook. These are not your dwellings. These will not be your homes from homes. These are not your salad days. Stalked on stagnant waters put down the fires malignant grooves and to release out from the mushroom’d stratums copious corruption spawn newest memory. They have killed the sweet Ohio with curses and a leaf blower.