Studio8 - Uniting the Arts

eve was tricked by
evening – a slick sick succulent
soire, the life of the partay,
some snakelike grip on
knowledge, beyond me,
but hell, heaven is like that
when cures are at stake,
hung on a tree, but i am
certainly not expecting
resurrecting the past.

are you?

love is a touch
enough to renew
promise.

the snake promised eve
he wasn't lying on a branch.
i choose to arch
my back to the tree.

who taught the snake
to speak?

who taught Eve to listen?
hallowed be that day

judih.... beats me.

mingo. ....

rat-a-tat
rat-a-tat hit man blasted
pincushioned holes in a nightsky,
satellite moon daze, the floodlight.
we dance on terra cotta, shed fabrics
strewn in a ritual pattern –
worship love's resurrection with
a nature leap, hands held high
circularly embraced.
we taste death's probability,
curse it with unison chants,
rat-a-tat
rat-a-tat,
become hitmen
brandishing machine gun
rounds, determined to spray
holes in a dark veil to
allow love to seep through.

tiny streams of light.
tiny streams of light.
rat-a-tat.
rat-a-tat.

We are the word – an engaged
creation of visible thought.
Dust becomes human with
a breath or yes into mud.
We arose from water, fins
no longer necessary.
We speak since we must.
We are, due to language.
We are the word, absorbed,
occupied, meshed.

There are no escape routes from seasons.
Autumn arrives with warm gentle exhale,
leaves us chilled with an ice gust just as winter
takes over, fingers frozen to a walking stick.

Hurricanes will come. We can track their
whirlwinds. They are bad girls, vicious,
mean, destructive girls with their skirts
in a whirl, pulled up ready to fuck anything in sight.

What I don't understand is why there aren't
underground people-movers or elevated trains
to carry populations from one city to another.

And why haven't scientists devised a way
to kill a tornado, to disperse the parts of
a hurricane into inanimate particles?

There are no escape routes from seasons.
But why aren't there weapons to destroy
monster storms?

beats me too

but they are excellent questions

and poem


Eve is still a better listener than me.

And I am grateful she learned to speak

I once left hell city
on the wing of a wild falcon.
I entrusted my exit to his soar.
His talons bore deep into a
sleep slope when he landed,
his crag, my new home.
But when I arrived,
I was petrified, his savage
eyes pierced my side,
I bled from the head
as his beak pounded
my skull with fury and
frantic poke! Violent was
his untamed frenzy!
He was a savage beast!

I learned a lesson from
this adventure.
Never flirt with heaven.
Hades is illusion, created
in a mind!

Blind is the seeker
of paradise!
Look inside!
It is where
you reside!

I am covered in
dehydrated sweat.
I am confusion, balancing
escaped rays with a
yearn for water.

For months,
I have offered the earth
warmth, affection,
patient lengths of arms,
beams, rays, crop nourishment

And the comfort of daylight
for as long as I could bear it,
until the moon drank
me in!

I am at my breaking point,
exhausted.

I am Summer, speaking,
ready for a cool fall.
I await a woven afghan,
orange, red, yellow patterns
woven from fallen leaves.
I need rest.

I have been worshipped as
a maiden but I have now grown old
soon to be dismissed and
exchanged for an autumnal
equinox. I sweat floodwater
but have not a drop to drink.

Give me relief from my own heat.
I am Summer, speaking. I repeat.
Give me relief from my own heat!

It's what Dorothy knew.
And Toto, too...

but not until they
fled Kansas on a twister,
chased by a wicked bitch
on a broom, awoke disheveled
in a field of poppies, met
monkeypeople and a horse
differently colored, befriended
straw, tin, and lion, and in unison,
sang the blues.

Where are your shiny red shoes?
There's no place like home.
It's what Dorothy knew.
And Toto, too.

"tiny streams of light
tiny streams of light"
create underground trains
carry summer in
orange, red & yellow
save the world
save the girl
find a field of poppies in a shoe
find water. grow.
find home. stay.
home

life is a damn tornado some days

we wander along yellow desert roads
with tiny red shoes and
shiny sweat and a
thirsty mind
and we find paradise barred
and cherub behind
and we travel 'round the world to see
if there's an access from the back
we can find....

I leap into the fray
Like a boy scout unprepared
Lost in the folds of a skirt
Scented world alive with allure
My sole refuge in a world gone mad
Where patriarchs rampage like hungry lions
Through cities of light and steel
Eve's invitation a path to paradise
Winding through labyrinth of woman
Where lies the key to freedom's door