Here’s an extended poem I wrote back in 2008, fully fourteen years after the real life events took place. In many cases, the names were changed to protect the guilty. In other cases they were not.
Lost in the Dark of Westwood
Enter a drifter in borrowed blue jeans
A strong pair of hands that could work on machines
If only this lad were the hardworking type
And not just the sponger in search of a pipe
But this was his calling, to catch the best high
To alter his conscious and see from the sky
To fly overhead like a red-shouldered hawk
These are the half-truths of which he would talk
The bard had a six-string that bent toward the blues
He played a mean ditty then borrowed your shoes
The bottleneck slide it would whistle and moan
He’d sing of the hard times he never had known
Along the Midwest he had family and roots
Parents who fed him and bought him good boots
He wore them to walk with his favorite wolfhound
He wore them and wore them right into the ground
All over Green Bay the dog came along
The boy couldn’t see it but something was wrong
Walking for days, man and wolf side by side
The wolf just expired — it lay down and died
Too many miles for a soft puppy’s feet
Pounding and chafing on all that concrete
Beating and bruising with no such relief
Succumbing at last, to its poor master’s grief
Downtrodden, heartbroken, no sense of home
A hero in need of a new life in Rome
Farewell to Wisconsin, the old stomping ground
So escape it he did on the morning Greyhound
Knowing his canine could not be replaced
Westward on Wilshire our proud poet paced
Through Fairfax where gentlemen thought him a dandy
Amazing how Brad would perform for some candy
Arriving in Westwood with no place to live
He came for the taking with nothing to give
On a stolen guitar he could pick on some licks
Then beg for a bong hit to pay for his tricks
Swinging his axe on an old Rasta song
So long as he played he could do nothing wrong
Sad songs of freedom he sang in profusion
Belting out reggae but what a confusion
Chanting down Babylon, old pirate ways
No weak heart prospers, no parasite stays
Respect your brothers, be upful and true
Cut down the liars and hypocrites too
A meaningful chorus with words to believe
The strict code of honor he’d never achieve
The Bard had no notion of trust among thieves
Keepsakes would always climb into his sleeves
One day a handful of cash in his sock
Next day your doorknob was missing its lock
A cache of CDs always tucked in his drawers
Quickly they banned from all music stores
But nothing could stop the Wisconsin crusader
As parties ran faster and later and later
His permanent grin would shine through the nights
Consumed by a darkness, devouring whites
Somehow his welcome it never wore out
This leech was awarded the benefit of doubt
Though he might walk away in your best pair of pants
He’d always finagle just one more last chance
***
Aloof in his lair, Fab Five would observe
The cruel injustice that nature would serve
How addicts would sink to the ways of whore
Jonesing and fiending and begging for more
Casting his gaze from behind his high scales
Doling out tablets and cutting up rails
With Brad by his side he was rightly amused
The court jester’s pipe load was never refused
The summer grew hot and the roommates grew thinner
Often as not they’d have powder for dinner
As Low Down concealed his dark sunken face
Their hygiene regressed to a state of disgrace
Too many uppers and not enough Comet
The filth in the kitchen could cause one to vomit
Remember when Rabbit Mouse screamed at the roaches?
This is the outcome when madness encroaches
A debaucher by night, and a waiter by day
The Rabbit he lived the way most people play
Serving up sushi to Westwood’s elite
Yellowtail, salmon, the other pink meat
The renegade cowboy who came from Orange County
Scoured the nightclubs in search of his bounty
The mighty pink palace enshrined on the wall
Inside those four lips, the source of it all
The Rabbit dug deeper, or so he maintained
Like Manson, his name had been wickedly stained
High every night with women and drink
One was deflowered right there by the sink
***
Each morning another new mattress appeared
Who’s head is that, all properly sheared?
From under the table it’s Cheetah the man
Tiger’s milk, O.E. and fish in a can
Le Bon and his visions of a Chocolate Thai castles
But the empire is always being raided by assholes
Meek mister Nelson was hunted and charged
Martinelli, the Kingpin, remained out at large
Mr. Tee played with weapons but meant no one harm
With textbooks on Schnysics strapped under arm
In Norwalk he knew just the right intersection
We bring you the ultimate Ernie connection
A non-Anglo, Saxton, appeared on the scene
Starting out easy, by puffing on green
At first he knew nothing of glass and the rest
But soon he insisted that rock was the best
The Queen of the Valley came round with her court
To every remark she would dish her retort
But Bradley had eyes for the 16-year sister
Some say he had her, but probably he missed her
Then things got crazy, ecstatic electric
Serotonin was racing, and neurons went hectic
Billy boy’s magic would open their eyes
Two feet in the air and all heads in the sky
Smiles were beaming in blinding white glory
Fab Five begged of Bradley to share a sad story
Never before had he known such elation
He entered Nirvana with much trepidation
Popping these capsules in daily succession
Fabulous entered a cave of depression
Awake every night till the sound of the birds
Lost in frustration that went beyond words
***
One Saturday night down to Fountain and Vine
Coeds and hookers in heat intertwine
Mad doctor Harold along for the ride
While Leo Le Bon he had nothing to hide
Harold he hailed from the Tar Heel State
Arrived on the doorstep to summon his fate
With untold amounts in his Swiss bank accounts
Harold could always throw down for an ounce
Fab Five and Le Bon would oblige him this service
Dealing with weed there’s no need to be nervous
For partners in crime all the profits were shared
But it was at Nora that both of them stared
Nora the Queen, who came from Canoga
Back in the era before they knew yoga
Le Bon was a master of mushrooms instead
And Nora sent ponies to run through his head
With visions of grandeur, like kings in a spoof
Eight heads of state dwelling under one roof
But money rolled in, and slush funds were ample
So Bradley could always expect a free sample
Like all of his wishes were granted by genies
Dining at Monty’s on steaks and martinis
A first rate freeloader who needed no cash
And somehow he hoarded a top-secret stash
Alone while their sidekick would sidetrack Le Bon
Nora took Fab Five and strung him along
Unsure of her motives, or what to surmise
Unwound by the gaze in her deep ocean eyes
Exchanging long glances, and wanting her touch
Fab Five asked himself, was he asking too much?
Instead he subsisted on mountains of blow
For the ways of a woman he might never know
The cash kept on flowing, as baggies kept shrinking
With barely enough just to keep them from thinking
Their feelings grew numb and their bodies fell weak
Jaws were so tense they could not even speak
A greed overcame them, and Mouse lost his senses
Waiting for Brad to let down his defenses
Blinded by craving and hungry desire
Obsessively fighting for who could get higher
To Hoover and Alvy white rocks were procured
This was the leisure that Saxton preferred
Jacked up like Rabbits, just look at them go
And ten minutes later, they’d all Bend Down Low
Fabulous Five withheld his approval
Suggesting a time for the loafers’ removal
No patience remaining for scoundrels and phonies
Instead he was bilked by a circle of cronies
Le Bon and the blonde were dispatched to the border
Their Mexican wedding was held in disorder
They went separate ways like a bottle and cork
The bride before long would reside in New York
Alone in L.A., with no place to linger
Le Bon would discover the ways of Iyengar
For a natural high that no one expected
A master and guru and widely respected
To the hills up the coast, Fab Five chose to flee
Building a Shack, where his heart could roam free
Making the most of some useful resources
Studying the pathways of mystical forces
The beggarly Bard, his fate no one knows
Sponging off someone, somewhere, I suppose
Perhaps in a cell, with thick iron bars
Or down in a gutter and covered with scars
Exploiting indulgences, that was his game
Sociopathic with no sense of shame
And yet he had something, I knew I could use
In this epic saga, he served as my muse
©Fred, 2008
The Tao of Fred 