Tuesday, December 13, 2005

Graeme Jamieson ~ Situation Istiophoridae

What about Higher, baby?
Where you from?
I thought Southside
You said suicide
Nah, just Southside
Good, I’ll get Bensonhurst on my speed dial
And all the while, you can call me ragazzo
Or even peccadillo
So long as you don’t start the meter again
I’d rather save you the dime
If you can’t give me time
I figure I came over profligate
And if it happened again
The residue of my reputation would begin to erode
I think we’re wiser getting consonant with our innermost beings
For the meantime
I sense that
Nothing in a barrel of tele-casuistry holds any water
So let’s scribble before nibbling ear-to-ear
Its a situation complicated by its straightforwardness
But by the Fall
I’ll take you a fine line around the island
Through the doormen in my pocket
And if you’re thinking
He thinks money is part of everything
Let me tell you
It is not everything in anything
By now though
I suppose you know the family of my name
It’s Gambino
Yes, you’ve been told
Yet assumption is no formidable currency of accusation
Black Cadillacs pull out of graveyards everyday
So forget any clemency
And Kensico Cemetery
They tell me no one ever digs Valhalla anyway
See that life for me is now far away
He took one in the mouth for his clarion bawling
You use that language in front of my mother’s son?
They said
You show a lack of respect
They were talking to my uncle
His temerity had no value as a precedent
But he was my uncle
So a precedent had to be set
And that was that
They secured my debt
Next day I thought
How can I replace the old order?
When I am becoming a product of it
"A microcosm of their macro malaise”
Six words Eugene Ionesco conceived to phrase
When back-in-the-day
He outlined why he pined to pit from their race
So I said Messrs Gotti, I want away
To wash these nephew hands of this thing of yours
After all that happened yesterday
I shall convene my own epoch
When I begin to become a scholar
So they said
It gives no pleasure whatsoever kid to remind you of
He said to Piney
He said
I know what he said: ‘You don’t get to do everything. You won’t. No one does. Me, I got no regrets. The thing I wish, I wish I had more education.
I wish I was more, ya know, educated.’
That’s right sonny
Well Great Uncle P is not Master G
Hear me out, willya, please
I must stand at ease
And guess what?
They stood aside
So know Ms Po what you’ll find in me
Is an independent mind, a ragazzo who is free
Given up bottles of contraband booze
Their rackets
Pay packets
Are done and defused
That since is now eliminated
Today, I surfeit on the city
Where I hold more water with a clear head, a piece of paper and a pen
Than a piece alone
We’ll take the long road then
And walk it
So; gorgeous girl
With the golden gaze
Now you know me better
Don’t pick up the phone, the knife or the dish
Let me alone to count my change
For that Swordfishing meter

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