Studio8 - Uniting the Arts

a sudden semi-trailer backs up in the wind
it's all political
a wild-eyed green van
passes 17 toyotas from the right
all political
finger up
rear-view mirror down
spittin coke bottles
crumpled speedin tickets
blinded by the west sundown sky

all political
we sing minuets in G
eyes closed

all political
that's as political as it gets

judih

i have written minuets
to starlings, fingers
daring ivories with
rain dances

i will dance
outside a teepee haunt
for huddled children
wrapped in blankets,
blind to storms
or to invisible tribes
who have vanished
into dustwind,
never reappearing

I will dance outside
upon buffalo hide
round and round bass
drum in hand and bells
on my ankles...no movement
nor chance for sound ignored
throat singing electric resonance
I will dance outside

bird handgrenades explode
branches with song
unbecome begot by
feathers sauntered
through wiggling wams
unforgot

Time Out!

just to announce

that WIREMAN wins the prize for the 2000th post to StudioEight.tv

(you can pick up your Caddy tomorrow)

suddenly the tune changes .....off key....birds caw....caw and cackle in the brush.....exotic strains....sounds full....begat.....

chest nuts hair their threads
woven matted on unwiped
sounds

whoa! wireman is wired!

two thousand feathers
on a chief's headdress,
forgotten children barefoot
in mud piles,
weather, the plagued maiden
threatens terra firma,
thunder rolls drum

i am the young earth
preparing soil for spring's
arrival, unbegotten, hidden
beneath snow

the tribe hides
behind shaman rituals.

i am rich with heritage,
feathers on my father's
headdress, the daughter
of seasons

sounds full....unwiped sounds
barking....rumbling....trying to
catch the sun.....sounds you and
me in tune....sounds even improvised
create jam-nation.....unity....ultimately
magic.............

commercial breaks
interrupt tv dinners
wrapped carefully
with aluminum foil

and just when the white man
was about to steal the red man's
land.

a sun of moons gaunt eyes
browse fallow hearts
unshining in hollow
wholes

tin foil feathers
rattle in the rain
dance all, wiley wired coyotes
howlin in the star lit eve

a cast of cloud
shimmers in full-moon hum
whispering to thousands

whole holes
in chambers
beat remainders
of aorta rush --
such are dreams
of hollow pleads
to beg the return
of love.