BEWARE THE 

GOLDEN CRAZIES

(FOR STEVE SNEYD, WHO 

WAS SOMETIMES THERE)

Dialogue:-

‘What colour are his eyes?’

‘I dunno, he’s always wearin’ shades’

‘Is he tall?’

‘Well, I gotta look up’

‘Yeah, well I hear he’s B-A-D!’

‘He’s good-bad, but he’s not evil’

(‘Give Him A Great Big Kiss’ by

Shangri-La’s / George ‘Shadow’ Morton

Copyright ‘Red Bird Records’ 1964

Beware the Golden Crazies
who quit their day jobs and lived to regret it,
who haunt M1 Services poring over juke-boxes searching
for their own name,
who sleep in the back of rusted Ford Transits falling behind

          on H.P. for Gibsons & Fender Strats, infused by
          thefted Chuck Berry runs and amphetamines...

Beware the Golden Crazies
the self-immolators of memory,
blazing airships consuming the night,
metallic dandelion-seeds spiralling down across the sky,
two-tone siren horsemen howling,
wading through elfin-pools of piss and tin-cans cranked up
high on electric decibels,
eyes growing like huge balloons
floating out of leprous faces upwards into the sky
above the office-bound clerk interiors-shrieking moon-scratching
          at sky-lights watching through thumbnail slits for
          spluttering galaxies and balloon-eyes hovering in
          lecherous carrion formations,
          beckoning...

Beware the Golden Crazies
coming at you with murderous intent
across headphones, treble-drenched transistors,
sound-systems, music centres, walkmans, thru walls & floors
and night air
lubricating cajoling silences with snatches of breath
and arteries spider-dripping sweat across billowing Bop-straining
          saxophone neck-muscles foreskin-knotted and folded
          cheeks-inflated to precarious aural limits of sound-tolerance,
          sticky-fingered Dayglo orange claw-toothed spirals
          spittle-gleaming, fret-crawling tarantula’s
          of pure noise...

Beware the Golden Crazies
who grew their hair a little longer,
who wore pointed-toe shoes with buckles,
who switched from purple hearts to acid to animal nitrate to E,
who arrive in Leeds at 3am when the rain has abated and the
          night is star-shocked clear, and are shot down in
          ritual flames disintegrating across the dance-floor in
          ecstatic chaos, crouching among the dust & battered
          cigarette-packs & condoms beneath ancient monitors
          programmed in at each footstep & each vowel of
          disjointed conversation...

Beware the Golden Crazies
who died before they got old
like the last Mod in ‘Quadrophenia’,
who went smashed blocked over the sky to see beyond endless
          bad gigs, good gigs, gigs of terminal monotony
          and transcendental magnificence,
          gigs in Student Union Halls where
          you watch through plate-glass and
          gesticulating Bouncers while bands stagger
          through barriers of paint-peeling amps
          sniffing out functioning mikes,
          and those who are still waiting
          with Rock ‘n’ Roll half a century strong...

Hail dem Golden Crazies
dem groove-talking jive-dancing crazies,
dem tribal dancing electric crazies,
dem scaling chordal chains of riffs towards high-ceilings
beyond faded woodwork beams sound-vibrating
          beyond slates & telegraph power-lines & ozone
          epidermis-layered with soot & chemical smog pollution
          and out into planet-roll silences
          of Rock ‘n’ Roll vinyl forevers,
tactile as sleeve-designs intricate with coffee rings,
eternal as one breath in a lifetime,
one ejaculation in a never-ending all-night stand...


Published in:-
‘SLOW DANCER no.7’ (UK - December 1980)
‘BOX OF RAIN no.13’ (UK - March 1984)
‘THAT’S ENTERTAINMENT: POETRY NOW ANTHOLOGY’
in Hard & Softback (UK - October 1995)
‘BAKER STREET IRREGULARS: MINOTAUR no.33 - Vol.5 No.3’
(USA - July 1999)
Also on Cassette:-
‘SLITS IN AEROSOL GREEN’ (January 1981)
‘S4 - SUPER COMPILATION’ C60 (July 1981)
‘NEW SYSTEMS : WORKING MEN’S TAPES’ (December 1981)