Studio8 - Uniting the Arts

when i was matisse
it was all different
the world was black & white
and i was the colour
the shape and the form
when i was in my prime
i'd slice up the avenues
and rearrange the squares
as matisse, i held court
in underground salons
quoting Gertrude Stein's maid

i'd shape the bridges
into suns/moons and wishes
while young models turned
and posed on the sly

this is simply how it was
when i was matisse

when i was van goghs
other ear
the wormwords
spun spin acres of sails
valid vivaldi
or gala's de bussy
the canvas creaked
easle with splintered knees bent
heaven scent
lubricicity
each pore
exuding exhumations

i snort the yellows of heady sunflowers
the opium fields of van goghs seer
traced with aura laced absinthe
gaugin? mais oui

a cloppety trail towards moonlit epiphany
the oils of pigments
a van goes by

the soft pebble cast in iron stone
folded back into ireland brooks
when the green grey mist
wafted its belly shroud
from shouldered minutes
dripped
to one mans van
meloncholia
flowerd its cactus head
thorns for crowns of lip lapped
tongues
circumventing navigational
hymns

once in a sinai monastery
i saw the burning bush
refreshed after dawn
monks wafting by, incensed
balancing the books of ancient scripts

(take one every morning and call to prayer)
the iron bells clanging rhythmic parade
women harmonizing
to bedouin drum
mono theistic essence
lush odes to surprise

Simple Facts

It's 9 AM and I've had two beers
My fingernails need a trim
So does my mustache
I have a joint rolled
most of the leaves have fallen
we have an appointment with winter
the clock mocks me with its ticking
I want a lazy fuck and a shower, in that order
mostly days start in the morning.

daze in the morning
daze in the afternoon
daze at night
clarity comes between then and now

i wanna see, simply put,
i wanna taste, simply placed
i wanna know, simply honed

morning to you
music to me

loadstone encompasses
the heart of the belly
pitted and flayed drawn
Quarterly's measure
primal in essence
the drum of the tum
calls being to be
tarantulas beak fossils
harmony in
each skin sinless skin crypts
skinned in husks
quavered
to calls

God said to Moses from a Burning Bush
"Lose your slack and you lose your Push"
send a message to my children in broken clay
smash the law and seize the day

hey lr howz the beat?
2kewl fer cats
butt i gotta slide into my chariots seat..

catch ya on the other side of later
or mid- mornings hell

judih. thanks fer the w3rds.

where's it ya want this
buisiness done?....the true
test and all were blessed to
mistake...time ridin' the snake
the everlastin' trail...........

i've got a map
and a territory
a dream
and a step
and i wander
restlessly
along the lines
of meography
and self

if day be here,
then we're the idiots who count the hours
the grains of sand that create playtime for slugs

we, snails, amongst cornflowers
drunk under thick foliage
hiding from no one
yet safe in the underworld
mother earth smells so fine

slowly we continue the walk of life
rustling ever so slightly
sashaying to dylan's toenail beat

roll on by
we have a trailer park on our backs
a revolution by our sides

The tarantula is a spider without a web
an arachnid SUV with hair
the day is already weighted with Beethoven
and my publishers smirk in their sleep
while I'm wide awake and snoring

roll on dylan...roll on lennon
all the marx bros. in yer head
upside down rubber clowns
surroundin' empty beds, can't
escape the cure.........................