Studio8 - Uniting the Arts

payed my poet due's
today
cost me another, for sure

the first poem
just came through me
I can still see the words
burning down the ink

fresh on the paper, rippin it
to the stars
the first one contained the last

then the rest came slow
all that written between
the lines came like some thief
in the night

oh great
God of poets, open for me the city
of apples and guard the place where
a waits in darkened jazz rooms

for I am hipper then they
not because of how you say it
but, how you say it,
in the forest for the tree words

for if every thing you said was hip
it would just be cool, be cool
an everything you spoke. left
some impression other then just
keepin up with the rip jive, that
would not keep up with the word cat

the cat knows what you said--

payed it no mind
payed it no mind

that's how them cats play it no mind
poets hanging out in the shabby dawns
walking down some empty poem street
walkin down to the end of the lingo pop
with all them tiger brights, all them hep cats

killin time by keepin it real when real went
out of sight and out of mind, pay it no mind
payed my poet due's today, cost me another
for sure

if I said the word gypsy
if I said it in cat or said it in bird
said it like a moon dog or like a taxi driver
if i said it like a moon or said it in moon tongue
the gypsy word would be like any other gypsy word
say it with fire or say it with song, no matter how
you say it long, say it long and enter the city of apples

just passing through
don't shoot

They don't speak to me those god's of poetry
I got the mind of a bean counter.
That is why I need the fucking poetry so bad

nice one.
thanks

if I say the gypsy word
might be a gypsy ring with green glass
maybe green eyes of rare fire
that you look into because you dare trust

that was worn by the dark stranger
with hidden dagger in boot or
might be a crystal ball word
that was worn like her name Nadya
a word that was taken from another
Egyptian, desert, forest, free

gypsy, bohemian, traveler, words smuggled
through borders of language kingdom,
spoken in broken syllables, sibyl, fortuna,
what she sees, seas, she see
brings fortune, or bad luck, word like magic
coin, coined on the tongue, like if I say the

wyrd, gypsy, always brings me around
bringer of tideings, light bringer, gypsy moon
morning star goddess, the gypsy, the gypsy
the whirl of colors as she dances bare foot
flings her voice, makes voice potions
under the influence of magic names

still invoking from the first one
before it was torn from nature
we are all gypsies here, telling
stories that become wolves and crows
by the eternal camp fire
poems that have been carried
through ages, like bits of silver
and ancient beads from Rome
or Byzantium, by caravan rode
brought out like the sacred wine
and rubbed for trader luck and held up
to the wild shadowy leave shaking night

oh gypsy, word, pouring through starlight
like a gypsy cat slippin through your legs

and the great hip father commanded unto the children,

go forth and multiply cool upon the face of the stone glitter universe..

(thanks)