Studio8 - Uniting the Arts

There is always a hole
Leaking magnetically




restructuring into place

That smoldering coal
Still emits some heat
The face of the city
Rose like a hung over fishwife

Waiting for her man
To return from the sea

The hole in her heart
Could only be filled by him


She laughed loudly
Chortled
Snorted and dipped
Like a ship
On the sidewalk

Cool poem....immediately reminded me of of years in Key West.....and The Widow's Walk's.......a perch up high in an old Victorian house where women would stare out at the ocean hoping to fill that hole in her heart that her man once filled before he went to sea.....

Awesome- in Italy too- I saw many houses in a row of widows walks- I love stuff like that-

a truckers better half
is his wife
Johnny Cash ~ Sailor on a Concrete Sea

beautiful poem reminds me of a friend I was looking for 50 years ago
I was somewhere around Santa barbara looking for her she was in the shenandoah valley looking for me.
She was just a kid 0f 14 when I broke up her mother's marriage but she only 28 when she died on that road going down San Marcos Pass.I am ok now as I still hope to catch a ride on Ferlinghetti's Train

Poetry and trashy trucker songs only things that keep me

Love comes harder to the aged
because they've been running
on the same old rails too long
and then when the sly switch comes along
they miss the turn

— Ferlinghetti

Mmm I hitchhiked with truckers as a young girl
They gave me bags of oranges
I never could do country western

My son sings Jonny cash all the time
I am hungry

faces in the holes of a honey comb is my heart
don't know the words to describe the state of consciousness that comes to mind after day after day driving a moaning groaning grinding howling ommmming diesel like watching husserl.s tv reflected on a windshield and back into my field of vision i see her sisters face she is sitting on the side of the road wrapped in an old army blanket a tribe of divine hitchhikers of the church of jesus christ almighty in west L.A. her mother sought refuge with when she was trying to get away from me. I knew it was her little sister. But I could not stop. No I dea what thi has to do with your poem
just me putting on a show
just a social whore craving attention
i like both kinds of music

Honey comb images with windows
Into a whole world of people
I guess the holes that were most sought after did not have much to do with my heart
The organs I had the chances to entertain were often not as romantic as I had imagined
U can leave your hat on…