Member-only story
american pop
So what am I missing here
Please tell me in screet
Upon all tender mercies
In tears I shall greet
Andy Warhol, fallen idol
King of the street
Lend me your ears
“Me too want counterfeit”
You are charmed
Disarmed
Quite calm and discreet
O come on now, it’s a TV show
An invention or some feat
It’s all of the above
And perhaps none
It’s secret
Busy yourself in film
As fiends pass the chillum
Lay blast on your film set
Lay waste in crushed velvet
There she goes again
And there she goes yet again
As you ponder the possibilities
A song might be penned
A love letter to heroin
A silk screen for Marilyn
Anything is possible
On a casting couch sublime
Where tin soup is canned
The assembly line primed
Chunky vegetable’s nice!
What the hell am I sayin’
Taste is no object
With a chilly shellacking
You make it look too easy
Nineteen-sixties sweet
I’m lost in your nonchalance
But you’re king of the street
From you has leaked osmosis
A hundred stellar dawns
A hundred million reasons
Why stars are reborn
