Studio8 - Uniting the Arts

palm trees shaking fronds
strong wind, sand blasts eyes
one day weekend roars minute to hour

comfort spot
words and coffee
printer agrees to cruise

chapbook't promise
an old collection
refreshes my mind

what was new
glows with burnished time
years are a gift

the snow has begun
they say no stop till Monday
I sat a case of beer outside my door
to cool, let god handle my 'lectric bill

did I hear someone say Billectric?
let god handle him too
The S & W is a good gun
but it won't fire across the State line

not in the snow

and may goddess bless
the snow
and the wind
and yoko ono
o no, o ya

hold that fire
see the whites in my eye?
please, send them home
for dinner

super supper
egg whites gatlin
gun, jack johnson
singin' the morning
tune, let's see waves
of grace and look into
the white of women's
beautiful eyes....4 real

writing on into the
snow white of a
winters day, had to
come, got the big
boots ready and we're
going for a plastic
sleigh ride...................

White is the color you cannot see
even doves have black eyes
the muzzle flash from a Smith & Wesson
is white as the doorbell to eternity
White is the color you cannot see.

I lkes it cause it
covers up all the
trash here on the
streets of the hood,
that's a kinda magic
white that makes the
grime go away..........

You never hear the shot that kills you
so the dead say and they should know
with bullet chambered
I'll take death by snow

when your revolver
is cocked, ready
to explode, i take
cover under
sheets to be
blown away

i've got my
finger on
your trigger

carve me an igloo
and i'll spin you a tale
a tale of 2 huskies
a warm blubber supper
and thou

The sheets are white
renders my rude instrument
invisible
pull the trigger
my love for you
is a pristine weapon under snow

takin' my dog out
so as he can roll
in the snow..........

wet dog
nothin like the smell
wet wooly dog
tongue lapping
dripping jumping
steamy breath leads the way
gloves under gloves
yellow snow trails

out there where the huskies go
there is visible respiration
even though it is the white yoga
of dog breath and effort just to live

they ain't no mo eskimos
living in houses of ice
they have double wides
and the blubber comes in cans

Automatics don't work above
the Art-ic Circle
You need a revolver there
Smith & Wesson

a forest lawn for words, yes
two days sober, whoreless
to view a field of graves
Here Lies some BobService
of the hours' "Ode",
to his grandma's attic
or perhaps waxing vatic
the sight of the sun
fall at the railroad shack;
another ignominious Kerouac's
whacks buried 6 feet
dunder and wightening