Oh the moon has past my dear, that, eagle moon of desert tears, that place upon a rocky ledge, where JR played, his flute, and brought young boys to play.
Jr Ticking walks the road and drives his white pickup alone, and plays each night as Halloween, like it was Easter day. Oh it’s true, it’s true my dear, there’s lonely bad men, in a world, that no one steers. A cross, a cross that no one bares, upon young skin, that JR Ticking plans, to find his way into the womb, of deep dark secrets far beneath that black, dark moon.
So many writers, songs of doom, that deep macabre that spells deaths gloom, from over yonder no one can know why. Know why this cowboy walks in death, this pied piper of such dread, that walks the desert and the brush, this albino, this seekers thrush, the one who brings bad bloom. That grins his red eyes full of ruin. JR Ticking, he thinks and thinks, what would it take to bring sweet tears upon this boys red cheek, to make him over to his side to keep. And if he brought him up to Eagle Rock, that featherless place a high altar top. A high, high altar top.
So I stare into a mirror, after all these familiar years, and still sometimes I feel like Poe at play, what would old Edgar Allan have to say? If he would have been a small, small boy, met JR and been his toy, known the devil as he was, climbed into his lap of love. Brought a rock unto his head, and stoned him ever dead. It could have been that way, right up there where those eagles lay.
Now Halloween it comes and goes these years of darkness in repose, and all seems quiet, as it did then, but still I wonder of what has been. Does JR Ticking still watch ore, and look for young boys who would climb up, and be with him where devils play, where eagles lay.
Oh the moon has past my dear, that, eagle moon of desert tears – 10.31.2015 – דָּנִיֵּאל