Looking through a glass onion
at the seeds of wild rumour floating,
fertilized by psychedelia,
spreading like weed,
shooting up its own paranoia
as sixties flower filled dreams
wither and die.
Dylan a drag queen, looking just like a woman?
Warhol's velvet banana mascerated in LSD?
Hendrix murdered by the mafia
for mocking Sinatra? No, I made that one up
but irrefutably true is that Macca
went to heaven in'67, replaced by an actor
with facial hair who became sartorial
"Sir Paul". Clues strewn like poppies
through Beatle lines. John mutters
"Paul is dead, Paul is dead," leaving
Strawberry Fields Forever, and what about
the Pepper's cover? Pauls badge says OPD,
Ontario Police Department or
Officially Pronounced Dead?
Barefoot he goes across Abbey Road,
different from the others.
Beetle reg. 28IF can be clearly seen,
28 if he'd survived, but that boy
never grew old, a nowhere man
consigned to Yesterday, and when he's 64
at the end of a long and winding road
only her Majesty will know the truth for sure.