I dusted skinheads with icing sugar.
Then I went back with oblongs of marzipan
And draped them so only their faces showed
It was like gently breaking-in horses

Soon they trusted me enough
To let me approach them with a full icing bag
And a set of detachable nozzles.
I piped on logos in stiff royal icing
I piped fake piercings onto their faces
And soft sugarcraft cigarettes between their fingers.

You see a hoody, you see the evolution
Of the wedding cake.

and the evolution of the cake
just like pitchfork and rake
tools long forgotten
for the hoody cant garden
he begs his pardon
from a magistrate
and his token food to celebrate
is a mile high plant
of opiate.
he would buckle under the creative demand
of moxys kindly offered piping machine
cave in with embaressment
if pressurised to create
floral design
yet offer him
a saxo clio
or alpine
booming bass
then drown the bells
and off his face
on happiness.


----
ya Mox I enjoy the tangents you put me on
you should be a waltzer operator
as you are in the mental sense.
have you the strength (just realised we are heading to wonderland I must be carfeful to keep on track ) my Mox?
I think so.

I enjoyed your poem today and would like to know more about it please.

Peter

Thanks, Pete -- I really like your poem-in-response! It's fab. Well, to me, hoodies look like they're in three tiers like a conventional 3-tiered wedding cake, the hoods giving them that stacked continuation sort of look. Wedding cake is symbolic of a legally-cohesive social contract -- something shared with /displayed to the community as a fact or intention -- isn't that what wearing a hoody is supposed to do --a statement of purpose? Wedding cake is the secular ritual that announces a new contract with that community. It just seemed apt. And yet it's all decorative and is always a variation on the one theme. But ritualised decorative. That sort of thing.... hahahahaha!

Moxy at their finest. I've not featured for a while because I'm up to my dartboards in semantics,syntax and morphemes.
But here's one...



The minute bass
ticks its rhythm
too small to see
or colour read. Read
once and forget,
live life, a live
wire of thought.
Moped at the
site of long
faces on two wheels.
Exhaust fumes
at the blue stench
of homology.

I like this poem a lot, the two dressed up rituals compared, almost the opposite of each other but both as potentially fake as each other. The crumbling relationship dressed up with a posh wedding and the nice young lad dressed up with hoody, cig and piercings. Very thought-provoking as usual. :)

I like this poem a lot, the two dressed up rituals compared, almost the opposite of each other but both as potentially fake as each other. The crumbling relationship dressed up with a posh wedding and the nice young lad dressed up with hoody, cig and piercings. Very thought-provoking as usual. :)

You can tame a skinhead with patience and gentleness, but could a Moxy ever be tamed. I hope not.

Great poem Mox.

I think hoodies are like those apocalyptic horsemen which may be different from a wedding cake. I wear a hoodie when it's cold, but I don't think I can quite manage the menace of a wedding cake. Just embarrass a few teenagers.

I love the image of the icing piercings. It could take body decoration to a whole new level. Skinheads could have axes deeply embedded in their heads or oversized bolts through their necks when they went out and as the evening of hedonism wore on they could share their decoration with newly found friends. Slurping at protruding sweetness in high energy oral foreplay for a new relationship of the toothless and obese.