Vertiglow symphony

Come, fiends, strangers, and friends,
excuse some gin-and-tonics,
grace the cashmere upholstery
of our theatre-seats,
and be muse, phantom, and critic
to a new dadist-skiffle music-montage,

set in primitive-pianissimo
to the neo-beastnik roboto-libretto
by Jacques Madman II,
which will be conversationally recited
by split-personalitied lime-light addicts,
whose physiques will not this time
transform to portray
but tonight shall rather
quite ignore their latest theatric identities
with random-dance-moves,
improvisational psyche-purges,
masterfully cracked make-up,
and toupees that fall
into the theatric French soup
(on and off cue,)

as an Arabic audience-participant hurls
a well-aimed shoe:
downing the narrator in mid-sentence,
which doesn't stop our black-lipped heroine
from stealing the scene
by wilding off her decadent-plum mini-skirt,
and then more wolfishly
her gothic-white lingerie,
as the Count turned anarchist
fights back with bardic arias
from Bohemian-blue stick-lips,

all as black-cat-masked Romeo below
vainly entreats
their castle-tower of aesthete attention
with replete vows of dead-beat affection.
meanwhile, the horned-fox wails,
frets, and knaves
the labyrinthian metal-guts
of his absinthe-rusted saxaphone