Studio8 - Uniting the Arts

train cries in my ears and they've got
the fricking a/c blasting, skin so cold –
ain't nobody gotta hold of me, baby,
n' babies die when they aren't held.
i try to blend in with the supply,
misspent fears my alibi –

i am a naked word acrobat.
i have fallen from the platform.
cover me with sawdust.
i am cold.

guy at the end of the bar looks a little like Paul,
tall 'n' lanky, two girls flanked on either side,
one with a glitter derby – there's a lotta plastic
in this room, celia pumped it into her
double doublouns, and the old man with the
lavender vest and multi-colored moonpie tie,
that guy's got it seepin' out his wallet,
eight ball off the rail, a trail of disciple dawgs
nippin' at his heels – and i feel the thump of a
bass guitar, the boom boom boom in my aorta –
man this place is sorta strange, no?
it's a carnival cove, a big-top
event, an effect of radiation!

fear not, i told myself, then arose,
my clothes torn off by a lion's paw.
there is a snail sliming under
a shoveled mound. i hear the sound
of trained whistles. Yoohoo! woohoo!
i don't know how i missed this place before.
it is quite possible i don't exist any more.

poor Paul. he doesn't,
but his presence will not be diminished.
shot himself with a dose too strong.
so long. it is finished.

so i woke up from my veritable station,
emerged from the tomb complete
with thorny crown, hands stabbed by
the ringmaster, dull sword stuck below the rib,
blood on a draped priestess sheet, and i am
in complete mercurial confusion,
this, the ordeal of innocent self betrayal
but, of course, that is a lie.

the words and rhythms and images flow wonderfully, doreen

it conveys a stark feeling of plastic despair

my only question: is it About anything?

(my bad. I'm stuck in the world of representational art today)

Dear LoRd- er... LRod

"A poem should not mean, but be" – Archibald MacLeish

plastic despair... i like that!

and I was worried that it didn't flow well at all... 'cause my flow is in recurring interruption ... i'm in poetic peri-menopause

so i greatly appreciate you reading and replying so kindly ... I always treasure your critique when it's about the art and not about the person. Thanks much.

Amen.

poetic menopause?
I'm having poetic womenopause.
should I take whoremoans?

I always treasure your critique when it's about the art and not about the person.

I would never critique you as a person...you are perfect in every way.

poetic peri-menopause

perfect? you're kidding, right? what changed since last night? lol

ohh... maybe i perfected myself. that must be it.

musta been the resurrection

musta been the resurrection

no, more like a hangover.

but seriously, doreen, I like this poem
after the fourth reading, I started thinking of Micky Spillane having a tryst with Anne Sexton.
(that's a compliment, by the way)

heh... mickey spillane and anne sexton... that's funny i donno what it has to do with the poem but it's a funny thought!

You know the best way to avoid hangovers, don'tchya? sure ya do.... just never get sober

see? i knew you knew

well thank you, my dear... i can't imagine this piece being worth reading 4 times. I'm honored.

reminds me a bit of fellini on pcp. but i jest...sort of. lot of energy in this bad boy.

"complete mecurical confusion"
omg! love it... lots of mojo in the poem


~westcoast