G.G Allin Lives: The Fest, Halloween 2019

The rare crisp Florida night

The plaza crowd buzzes before the lonely stage

All patched in primitive stiches, gathered in black

Devils Lettuce rising in thick plumes

Loose groups in drunk conversation

I sit by one

One of several with the GG paraphernalia

"Knock Knock"

"Who's There?"

A dazed stare is the only response

Dazed but amused

An inside joke only his twisted state could understand

A woman beside him chuckles, sharing his warped vibrations

The stale air tingles

The moonless stars churn with the clouds

They dance in his eyes, a set of childish pupils

He stares through my receding forehead

Only stuck gears behind those sockets

His body drags behind him as the head swivels around my figure

A man pulling a rusted stiff bicycle brain across the sidewalk

Looking unblinking

Eyelid freckle, nose zit, fluttering split end, repeat

Moving the head to each place, not the eyes

"Your pupils are big, you look high."

He says this, not me

I redirect his attention to his backpatch

GG Allin; Big white sewed on letters to the frayed denim vest

Wrapped around in a tight circle, a bold insignia

Dusted and wrinkled with marsh dirt, sewn on loud

Enough to even make the late shit slinger proud

He makes no mention of it and takes out his billfold instead

"Big fan!"

A grey kitten within the clear card sleeve

"His name is GG Calin!"

I smile and nod

"Knock Knock"

"Who's there?"

The woman states the question

Their hysterical laughter dissipates in the monotone sea of voices

Lost to the cooling breeze

Churning with the skunk fog haze

Understood by no one

And yet they still holler out

A disjointed music