Headhunters
by
Leonardo da Vinci E
Headhunters--live for to see you dead
Watching in glee as you tap-dance on life’s thin edge, lingering, but never to actually live
And you have no thoughts of any enemies standing by disguised as friends
Who won’t let you in to breathe or out to leave
And each heave of your chest to draw a breath, must come to protest every loss of love along the way
One by one like rows of dominoes fallen each other after the other--down
Has drowned each lover that had made an offer or that stood secretly found
On wings that fly them away in this gusty gale you made, where even your sadness has grown rusty
Headhunters, with slews of lewd voodoo dolls they intend to use--to stick pins in to master your moods
And each doll has a name: beer, cigarette, speed, meth, cocaine--all the same
And I the poet, the snitch, can channel what’s in their heads
And I know they live to see you dying until you are dead in a pathetic fit
--with a piss on it!
To see you flung into a minister’s hissy fit of a hell on earth--and to smell!
And all the poets will tell--that the headhunters stood by snickering
At circles broke out around your eyes, at an addict’s hastily placed goodbyes
At that shallow glare in your jaundiced eyes, choked up with a puke in which your tongue lies--
To lie a Lie--that this is the last time to slip (when you actually skipped) down that hellish hole
Dark, dank, and deep
In search of a high with naughty cries for freedom and liberty to let you in so you can claw your way out again
And headhunters standing by snickering
But on some days like today you’ll say, “hope has sprung up like the dawn”
But I know it’s your enemy, from where you’re from
And soon to be a slain friend
--with blood on it
Strangled by your wickedest grasp
To lay with a gasp dying
And so dawn becomes--a sunset
Hope--lying with a raspy sigh
Like a sickened murmur upon the wind and sky
Its burial nigh
But for the final twist
One more breath to take
And your insanity at stake
To be mistaken for something sane
To have hope as a neighbor or a friend
To pit it against this ghetto existence--in vain
Sure not to let you in--to actually live cuffed to drugs’ golden chains
So why not stop it here and now?
Or you’ll strangle hope
Dying until hope is dead
Headhunter’s sneering and snickering by its death bed
While you stand in the spotlight, actually a flashlight--ugly, bloodied and red
With all out hopes for you--dead
And the poets will tell--snitches all--
That the headhunters stood by snickering at your final curtain call.
by
Leonardo da Vinci E
Headhunters--live for to see you dead
Watching in glee as you tap-dance on life’s thin edge, lingering, but never to actually live
And you have no thoughts of any enemies standing by disguised as friends
Who won’t let you in to breathe or out to leave
And each heave of your chest to draw a breath, must come to protest every loss of love along the way
One by one like rows of dominoes fallen each other after the other--down
Has drowned each lover that had made an offer or that stood secretly found
On wings that fly them away in this gusty gale you made, where even your sadness has grown rusty
Headhunters, with slews of lewd voodoo dolls they intend to use--to stick pins in to master your moods
And each doll has a name: beer, cigarette, speed, meth, cocaine--all the same
And I the poet, the snitch, can channel what’s in their heads
And I know they live to see you dying until you are dead in a pathetic fit
--with a piss on it!
To see you flung into a minister’s hissy fit of a hell on earth--and to smell!
And all the poets will tell--that the headhunters stood by snickering
At circles broke out around your eyes, at an addict’s hastily placed goodbyes
At that shallow glare in your jaundiced eyes, choked up with a puke in which your tongue lies--
To lie a Lie--that this is the last time to slip (when you actually skipped) down that hellish hole
Dark, dank, and deep
In search of a high with naughty cries for freedom and liberty to let you in so you can claw your way out again
And headhunters standing by snickering
But on some days like today you’ll say, “hope has sprung up like the dawn”
But I know it’s your enemy, from where you’re from
And soon to be a slain friend
--with blood on it
Strangled by your wickedest grasp
To lay with a gasp dying
And so dawn becomes--a sunset
Hope--lying with a raspy sigh
Like a sickened murmur upon the wind and sky
Its burial nigh
But for the final twist
One more breath to take
And your insanity at stake
To be mistaken for something sane
To have hope as a neighbor or a friend
To pit it against this ghetto existence--in vain
Sure not to let you in--to actually live cuffed to drugs’ golden chains
So why not stop it here and now?
Or you’ll strangle hope
Dying until hope is dead
Headhunter’s sneering and snickering by its death bed
While you stand in the spotlight, actually a flashlight--ugly, bloodied and red
With all out hopes for you--dead
And the poets will tell--snitches all--
That the headhunters stood by snickering at your final curtain call.
Pornographers
by
Leonardo da Vinci E
Look upon his or her face with a new-found respect
Being the source of the safety you’ve come to expect
In those moments of a most polarizing, fantasizing
devoid of any risk or any means of this
beyond an imagined kiss upon a picture frame.
And filmed not in vain
but made to sooth the thirst of a lusty lust
which you can trust will be lusting
And for those as ugly as I am
who will never touch the grace of a beautiful face
Such as your own-to actually be with
And to trace back to love
For us fantasy is, and must be, all of the above
Look upon his or her naked form with thoughts born of love
And never harm
For those members of that liberated sect
Who choose to be workers of sex
Who visualize, harmonize, romanticize
A sensual pleasure for lonely minds
And who by their endeavor affords a transparent pleasure
Frozen by celluloid in time
And becomes a means to one end
Unleashing erotic passion in a civil fashion
Which spreads not broken hearts nor disease
When addressing our human needs
