Studio8 - Uniting the Arts

pearls in the gloom sky the street walks with a limp the voice come out from behind the corner like a pirate moon from behind an island cloud holding a lamp up to the unknown monument the gaping sex of the whore in the dark alley offered like an inscription on the royal tomb the old musty book was o...

cool

"arcane arcades", I used that pare of words once
there are some themes that were there from my youth days
when I use to live near a boardwalk with arcades
and carnival rides.Which always served as a constant
source for metaphor for the distractions of amusements.

I donno I had written another version and I had not posted it and I suddenly had to turn off my computer to boot my modem and I forgot the poem was still there waiting.I sometimes write something just before I turn off my computer at night and I have to write quick.This second version was what I rec...

words at war this in the predicament we find ourselves in that we can't seem to remember before when what was written had been what was spoken when everything that became everything was finally put down to memory to a time before time became hardened into words when the only thing placed in writing ...

the snake in the tree spoke for free the cadillac moon drove to the cloud club his whispers in her paradise ear of an old story that had never been told before the cadillac moon drove through the tree she didn't know what he was saying about tutti fruiti oh Rudy, or whop bop-a-lu a whop but she pluc...

i get it...forge on even if your nouns are blown off.

At first the words came in on the crisp white paper as if the writing was about the most forbidden thing because we don't want to read about mundane things we almost expect to be brainwashed right off the bat this is not why we read things for the heck of it rather we read things for the hell of it ...

a poem is not a Christmas tree it is not your old broken typewriter rotting in the road that is a tongue you did not come here to meditate on nothing, or something even though you dreamed of Tibet or Timbuktoo a poem is not a door mat on the roof of the world you are but its imagination in the realm...

I want to lose the religious umbrella in the desert because he had to find rocks in his clocks you can't pick the locks on a barrel cactus way down by the dead carnival of the sun the stars were falling like... like blue dice into the ocean of fortune teller charms she spreads her arms of hula hoops...

Banana slug on its way the opera poem I wrote in my early Rimbaud days hotel window on the roller coaster moon on fire of dragon moon disco balls shooting crap rays in all possible directions sidewalks of freaks parade along tomorrow tonight the ceiling is bleeding psychedelic posters stripped of an...

Frog baseball beach cowboy radio night firecrackers in the dusk make cattails glow slow moon murder mumble rain puddle smoking stranger reflects strange lights from across the road through beams of fingers clutching paperbacks of lose women in love hop along jesus donut rodent matchbook back seat of...

sitting at the bottom of the sea tear in the morning of the psychedelic year I'm walking along the soda pop store fronts dreaming of living roller coasters guided by super currents of love I'm down by the beatnik magazines I have contraband hidden in my holy pockets little pieces of eternity, tiny s...

Yes, I remember I was in an English class also the teacher told us what had happened there was a lot of heavy sadness in the air we were just in junior high school so we were still kind of bewildered by the event I always think of that day November 22 1963 as the end of my childhood and around the t...

an ocean of kisses arrived from Russia in rags of revolution the words, lost against sorrow like there was no tomorrow that became the burnt orange moon wandered the back streets of novels did not have a dime to scrape only wanted to escape reality rummaging in garbage heaps of cities looking for ma...