Studio8 - Uniting the Arts

rapture ruptured
ripped from the under-belly
museums turned inside out below
the painting on the lost wall
a huge black dot in the middle of orange
looks like jelly pell melly
what's on the telly scaly

willy-nilly torn from crossroads star
down in the hully gully, all full o folly
oh molly, oh whip-snap lightning fingers
strumming a cobweb heart, smoking a
railroad spike, crucified on a chrome
bumper random dumper-downer
license plate number flies away
forgotten, once committed to freedom memory
a million connections with an infinite
more unaccounted recollections
possible directions pointing to nowhere
or
the last view through the gold junk mountains
glitters and glimmers like poem
written in a ghost town saloon
rays from the whiskey colored old sun stab
all around the sacred hunting ground
oh you ain't never heard that creaking sound
the swinging doors on a wasted wind
that long time coming road like a cheap whore whisper
looking for the secret passage
past civilization's last stand
past the stone ones still bleeding cosmic dust must
in truth we trust, strange we come, stranger we go
tell them I fought in the war to end all wars, but not
that one, where no man's land meets no land's man
if you get my drifter, man, ripped from the phone
she had that call-me-some-time, far away look
book, all the loving I took along the way

Love these streaming poems, ruptured and raptured
by the hand that wrote the menu down and forced the
vomit up. Did I just say that?

Powerful poem.

don't eat the menu ?


hey dadio!

blowin' down the orange sun tumbleweed road, gone highway . . .