Studio8 - Uniting the Arts

I'm on the hunt
not pulling a stunt
I was the runt looking for
grunt and another that rhymes
with bunt or punt, or punctuation
in any case I'm on the hunt
there are huge eastern eggs
on the moon in the subway
yesterday the colors were mad
they sat in little toy boxes of light
and dripped down the smoke stacks
and ended up in vast wonderlands
where the junk yards were free as birds
and ran around the lunatic park in the dark
we drank to the highest poem mountains
and passed out in the lowest piss off deserts
sometimes in the cool neon alley or death valley
while we dreamed on a train of ghosts for a buck
ancients cities passed us by like loaded poets
walking down the street like newspaper gods
we were on the hunt for a better way of nod
we recited our revolutionary mantras to cats
who slunk around the corner in furry disguise
sometimes we stood like jerks on empty stages
and with wadded pages in our shaking fists
frothed and foamed random diatribes of fits
life was the pits but our verse was the Ritz
sweep you away to pathological ruminations
meditations on the meaning of mind stuff & shit
as we pull through the dead of night stations
after the demonstrations looking for that fun fix
tough enough, and the poems run on schedule
can you spare a universe dime, brother, sister?

Fine poem & theme.

it's easy for me to relate to the hunt you poetically express.....the night train rumbles through all seekers minds....you know it's out there.....but where ?

others like us ( humans) hold the universal tickets to peace of mind.....all aboard...
connect with fellow man and woman......say hello to the one in the seat next to you

There's a train to the end of the universe,
it's here now,
all aboard!

Revolutionrabbit, just a wee bit rabid are we?

when I was a young poet, my mentor was a crazy acidhead surfer who had electro-shock
treatments, given to him by his parents.The town we were in at the time, had a
lot of poets, and poetry readings because of the University.My friend and I
were the crazy surrealist-beat-hippie-pothead poets on the edge of town, there were the University
poets, and Jr. collage poets, and street poets, and there were out of town poets,
it was like poetry gangs, and sometimes the readings in the local places, cafes
auditoriums, ect. could get a bit wild, a little contentious, there was an experimental poetry group that met in a building for awhile that had different
sorts of people power activity.The group did not last long, because all the poets
were coming from a lot of different perspectives.Mainly, the University poets,
because they published a poetry pamphlet thought they were the local poet gods.
My little rag tag group represented more the street poet point of view, those were the days my friend.I met a lot of assorted poets that just happened to be in the town at the time, some drifted in and then drifted back out.I liked to
go up to the university and listen to a local poet that taught a class up there
in the trees, his name was William Everson, also Brother Antoninus.