Studio8 - Uniting the Arts

over a warm goblet of chianti,
tuscany winter, the snows arriving
on the gray alpine wall
above Turin and Milano, fat sanguine bankers
and priests on their way from the ragazzi
to reification, one would offer
complimenti, for Thais, for Brutus
(maligned perhaps, Signore, since he
did smoke a tyrannical pedophile
according to the Bukowskis of the day);
but I would ask whether he thought his lords Aristotle
or Aquinas would have dug the ducati
spun down the piazza.....

An eye out for that gat, though;
the one with a lavender swazi,
or was it paisley, the yankee
totenkopf pasted above her rocket intake--
she's a Ratched, O yeah, if not
actual Edgar J in drag, a hag,
fit to engrave on a 20,
viper hair-doo does her
justice, or just inflate.....



and searching for Miss Psychopathopolis
2000, the Busby Berkeley's Perdition Follies,
meet me in Saint Lugie, Tom Bodett
redolent of bodacious, a Marquis Du Minute,
mistress mind, where art thou,
Justine du Jour, I ll help you
marginalize the breeder,
accentuate the plausible,
smash some okie's fiddle
over his toondiddy bowl,
suck on the barrel of
joyous vindication
and inhale

nerve of that urchin stompin'
all over edgar's grave is a mass
of confusioninin a Rchmond cemetery
with sweet lady Clemm's buried down
in a church yard on Fayette street
where the spiders knock the Milky Way
she was a bitchy lil culprit up-chuckin'
all the way down Lombard street sayin'
"It's all a dream within a dream!" in the
most angrified passion play wearing
nothin' but her filthy words that echo
unto this very getaway, across the primitive
carcasses of judgements that back-up the
get the hell outta my mother fuckin' WAY, of
Lao-Tsu's causin' confusion on these sad streets
of Nevermore till this 150 year boyz iin da hood
gotta make my get away.......................................wired

At the shrine of the po' boy,
a few too many shots of nectar
with edgar, i'd sanction corvus
as a national icon, a Department
of Corpse-Devouring,
Maggot come what may, beats the beetles
on the piney street, no ionian ,
please, out here we're interred, conquered,
decaying and immaculate; at least one,
paregoric, pre-robitussin preacher jacked
in the Baltie dusk, a prince of hues,
in his tenement of fevered dreams,
plague-masques and cadavers leering
from gutters of foam.....


Wanted: Annabella Lee, Robert's filly;
shriek, no one detests a scribe
more than a courtesan;
another petronius chants his
Thanks for the Memories, after
vomit and sodomy--
lamenting your smirk
as well as your snatch:
died in a castle
but the exit was
dolorosa, via....

on the via scallio we saw
the fair sophia geronimo
dressed to kill and fittin'
the bill, cause ya see she
made her livin' with dance
all the boyz they were held
a trance, down on Baltimore
street, place of turned up heat
where the walrus retreats to drink
his stout and live in doubt that
he'll ever find piece, yeah....talkin'
bout warm and beat, out on fired
up drums, that be wakin' up all the
bums, layin' in the alley way, never
could find a way, to come to grips
with a chick so undubitably hip, hell
she smokes the tailpipes off the fastest
foreign cars, she'll never be alone, go ahead
now throw that raving vision a bone, and
leave a big tip after her exotic dance leaves
ya in the grip, down by the harbor, the place where
old Edgars trip started, the inferno it be, lil place by
the O SAY CAN"T YA SEE?

at the Mount Royal tavern
they watch Jerry Springer
like it was a religion, suckin'
drinks like a bunch a pigeons
waitin' to go home, and they
too I throws the bone, for the
Edgar and Inferno man to see,
that's when they say, please
make it brief, it's beyond all
belief this jerry GOD man, with
some insanity plan, come on
dante, edgar says, let us scram
and they head for the door
runnin the streets of wild Baltimore
with a heat on their mind, out and
about they will find, all the things
that'll blow yer mind.............................

underneath paris, a tomb with a view
with the vcr set to record Jerry's
Lesbian Cannibals of Tulsa,
cataphilic Dr. Caligari with
64 bit AMD and an EAP construct, favorite
absinthe recipes and the marvelous
tapped out a demain.....

"You guys have no idea what's down there."

I don't usually slouch into a state of praise
but you guys are blowing me away

they headed for the place of
the Long Steps, the whole time
counting em till their feet became
wet, that's when they saw the red
glare, eminating from a cask 100
fathoms down there, where the
dark turns to light, a burning that
electrified the night, as the stars up
above shone bright and a cat named
Francis swam up and handed em a key
sayin' in the cask it shall be.............................

por qué llorás sin querer cada vez perezoso?
just in case, are you italian?
Edgar and the endless fecundity and permissive italian way, great!
saludos,

Arcadia