Studio8 - Uniting the Arts

the poem is not a moment in history
history is a moment in the poem
the mystery is under the magic carpet
all the dreams that were swept along
in the tin can of holy communication
we make the word black at the bottom
where the signal is faint in taint of rain

oh what designs they had in their brains
hiding the truth behind a window of fangs
behind the fruit of the factory in a fountain
pen, one stroke of a four horse crucible
where the shadows sign their creepy names

the poem was always a madder kind of music
words like wine pouring down the crown drain
let them eat mushrooms at the UFO dawn
let the wizards wander cheap novels of science
friction, let cornball secrets reside in rockets
to the green cheese moon, we will arrive too soon

everyday they crucify him again in their flat minds
falling all over themselves to worship the cover up
the puppet they parade before besotted population
has manufactured speeches already made of blinds
it's another fake reason to beat bibles to pulp fiction

oh their diction is nothing but restriction and decryption
splattered all over the shuck and jive, the shock and awe
the little men and women on the crazy box they pay well
they got some huge lies to sell before the whole rotten
cathedral of gigantic TV screens goes completely to hell

Well said. Fine poem.

... "got some huge lies to sell before the whole rotten
cathedral of gigantic TV screens goes completely to hell"

you can say that again ...

take the battered off-ramp
from the wasteland highway
in the dicey tumbleweed motels
where fugitives lay low, big cash, drugs
handguns, the filthy underbelly of man
no, that was vegas! or a thousand flicks
no, the rustic rooms pose little trouble
the stained walls and tobacco reek
tattooed lovers who fight like hell

no! tumbleweed neon is cool
except for the wire, the screen
the barking heads, clipped cadence
red bluster like semiautomatic fire
lips moving as hummingbird wings
no remedy for the mind meld
the jumpy shadows on a wall
the glow of toxic mesmerize
the ministry of tractor beam
the great flashing hypnosis
need an exit strategy
from the
screen

cutting and pasting


it's another fake reason to beat bibles to pulp fiction
oh what designs they had in their brains
where the shadows sign their creepy names

no remedy for the mind meld
the jumpy shadows on a wall
the glow of toxic mesmerize

need an exit strategy
you can say that again ...
history is a moment in the poem

cut and meld

The politics of insanity are alive and well in this living hell.
Thankfully, not everyone lives here.

history is an aberration...

this poem made me want to go out- like anywhere- and give a hollar= very amazing.. writing there-like it quite a bit- have always actully- but this one rings so fine- like chimes inside

insanity- is a point of view- sounds like the backdrop for a great screenplay- aloha[youtube][youtube]