Studio8 - Uniting the Arts

romance
property of the bone-faced gypsy
number and sizes of mystery
the beauty of animals
children of controversy
the desire of events
the pathos of the time stream
broken glass & glue
rubber & sand
the poet stands on his own
a skull full of synonyms
a nervous beast jerking in the air
warring with the dust
nothing to do but
fall in on that mess
picking your teeth
as you go
i am not convinced
that no one can say it
after all, the tales
and the maps
exist and no one yet
has ever held back the dawn
my clothes need washing
the grass needs mowing
there's a black man playing a fiddle
a deer's head above the fireplace
& a shotgun on the mantle
my mother's dead
can't make no more bread
but she taught me how
ya know
_______________________________________________

She loved her jack
did mrs Kerouac
he knew how to make bread from his ramblings

as if I was going to live to a hundred and three, but even so, it was some very good years times and music I got no compiaints, well a few, but too few to mention I always linked that sinatra song
too much bread, I need more crumpet

There is a shotgun down stairs in a corner, there are about a half a duzen Rx vials between the keyboard and the monitor, I have two monitors the is playing a steve earle song warrior as I type this. life goes on. Spartan women probably had more say about their fates than most ancient societies. Every boy has one mother.
I listen to women as carefully as I can. You can learn a lot listening to them.

Sometimes they break my heart, sometimes they don't I used to worry about it. I am looking forward to my future, the shorter it gets the more interesting it becomes to me.

v. good poem & theme.

Thx Terry

nice= real nice- really like this one
like the bones in my ears
my ancestors applaud

Thx, Jack.

Thx, Jana.