Stooges Apotheosis Poem by Michael Waterson

Stooges Apotheosis



Devoid of Keaton’s martyr soul
And Chaplin’s saintly grace,
Destruction was their holy role,
And bedlam sacred space.

In overalls or cummerbund,
No matter what the trappings,
They were divine imposters from
The bungled heart of things:

A universe where brutal slap-
Stick chaos calls the tune,
And laughter is the thunderclap
Of the gods applauding ruin.

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