Studio8 - Uniting the Arts

in my blood
flows the continuity
of all life

I lie to myself
I miss her companionship
More than I miss that got dam truck

You turned the page,ST
you turned the page!
94 & goin' for more...

Tried to turn it.
I got "No posts exist for this topic".

Fat chance!

if turning the page was a metaphor

this would be hermeneutics

and we could speak of limbo

when no posts exist for this topic

Where does it go

between the pages

between the last post on page 93

and the first post of page 94

when all is cloaked in mystery

misty mysterious cybernetic gloom

ah wireman

first thought best thought

I thought so too

turn the page
turn the seasons
turn over a flutterin' leaf
turn over winters of discontent
turn like borrowers, heaven-lent
turn like a record, turn pirouettes
turn it up, turn on the jets..

Ok... now I'm ready to go to work..
Ha.

Nice work if you can get it
when the wheels were turning
nothing else mattered

Nice work Nazz

can charges be pressed
like pants ... along the seems
like that? are there any ways
to hang wires than from a skinned
ceiling? who do the police work for
but for us? it's criminal, i know, but
when someone comes in your house
without a stocking mask, without a gun,
and takes you to the cleaners, there's only
one thing to do.

i blew the whistle on the dock one night.
the bay didn't back up one iota of a wave.

save me from myself.
dis young girl's weary
but i can't help but hummmmmmm...

Yes! the jam is a dam
opened, a damn sweep on a
rhythmic air canal, my heart touched
with yours, yours completely connected
with mine!

i am is a god
damn saviour,
a forever nurturer, a
rebellious freaking fluid
spoken-out-loud-sigh,
a death-by-death-die-by-die
outa body experience, an inebriation,
a configuration of syllables, utterances
strung together by breathing...

jam is seaming together head
lines, rhymes interspersed with veritable
photographs in a headspin, wins and losses
measured only by the endeavors to experience
each.... jam can teach, jam can explain, jam
can name each of us and position each of us
on a cloud particular to our own lofty situation,
then drain us like a thunderstorm, normal our
various heartbeats, deep, our swallows, our variety
of patience waiting like aorta thumps, dumbed down
by acceptance, opted up by the of course of NOW
and OH how I love you when you jam with me,
OH how I dance to your beat, OH how I find the
circumference of your halo, wrap my arms around
its resurrected reflection, feel your aura when you
sigh........

Yes! the jam is a dam
opened, a damn sweep on a
rhythmic air canal, my heart touched
with yours, yours completely connected
with mine!

and here we are jammin'
in the damn crammed universal
atmosphere, clear as a summer day,
fogged up by greyed & rose glasses,
never ending our connection, attempts
to make breathable the air as we dare
our oooompapah to make a note to one
another, staccato or sustained, each of us
named one by one until we recognize the
same in the other and the differences, too,
you being you, me being me, can't you see?
can't you see?

we are all one jammin'
all one at the same time
on a poetic lam lookin'
straight
into
each
other's
eyes

reflecting off
your jam injection,
I am a wild stream
of conscious inflection.
Hello? Hello?
are you there?
I swear you took me
very somewhere,
left me landed,
a lone eagle,
howling for mercy,
a faithful beagle,
midst the flicker
of pages turning,
smack dab where
invisible is burning.

From unknown into known,
spirits fling their sparks,
for poets like us
to make into remarks,
it is our joie de vivre
and we
begin the ecrivrer,
yes we
beguine the unseener,
from corpuscle to page,
disharmony and rage,
we harness to tame,
safe and sound
within amaze,
so in every future
we can engage,
in merry christmas,
Merry Christmas!
from the same ol cage.

Yea those of us,
with eyes,
in back of our heads,
we can see it coming,
we can hear it drumming,
and we
dance in the conjure,
we fret
in the strumming,
and we
roar with gleefull,
to smarten up the dumbing.

And so there,
where the pages flip,
waggle your index
in your silenced lip,
then give
a mighty loud om,
for all those
unwritten,
those unsung,
blank pages,
(ohla!)
yet to come.

doreen ya make me wanna paint. Fam the juck on!!!
ice age mice big as pitbulls
mama telephone glacier bread
phallic graffiti on the trees
tell the sabertooth we ain't dead!

ohla
om pa pa
mighty jamning maam
and a sweet reply hester

merry christmas
or hare krsishna
a cage is a cage is a
boney cavity
holding a blood red muscle
beating a rythm to the brain
I am that I am
I just don't know who
is it me or you or him or us
I am that I type

poets not all of us
some were born dumber than others
even so I limp to what I can not reach in bounding leaps of poetic inspiration

oh shucks

typing again and I can't stop
somebody take these red shoes from my fingers.
>>>>>>>>>>>>>>>>>>>>>>>>>>>>go

there is first thoughts
the thrill it will getcha when you get your picture on the cover of the rolling scrolling GO they call the stickiest jam in perpetu spiritu
try again
GOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOO
jammmmmmmmmmmsbuuuuuuuuuumittttttttttttt??????????????///
oh I for got to click the button
hitting return don't get it

jam on!
make it cherry,
spread it on toast,
peanut butter words,
the most crunchy delight,
and when it sticks to my
palette, i write tongue-in-cheek,
and we pique
in ice cream dreams

ice cream dreams
burst the seams
we hold imaginative territory
no one can take it from us
our borders are always horizons
jam on cave painters jam on
boomboomboom be boomboom de boo!

my baby sister
wearing my high school sweater
the one with the scarlet letter

wrote:

From unknown into known,
spirits fling their sparks,
for poets like us
to make into remarks,
it is our joie de vivre
and we
begin the ecrivrer,
yes we
beguine the unseener,
from corpuscle to page,
disharmony and rage,
we harness to tame,
safe and sound
within amaze,
so in every future
we can engage,
in merry christmas,
Merry Christmas!
from the same ol cage.

they putting the bricks in the wall
to cage us forever
those "improvers of mankind"
And the people bowed and prayed
to the neon god they made

we rage against it
with all our fears
when I need to rise above it

to control chaos
they say it can be done
but is it wise

we are always
playing catch up
with our good intentions

maybe a guy think
a guy think
they say we are so linear in our minds
and you all so circular

and yet men and women of good will
seem to reach the same conclusions.

I want a lick that big mushroom cloud
that looks so much like an ice cream cone
of a vengeful god

crunchy mondays
malfunction junction
and I am stoned again

nobody can take that from me
but sometimes I wish they would