Studio8 - Uniting the Arts

sea train nightscapes whizzing manic depth charts finding
balance in the eaves
balance in the way he weaves the lines crossing
this from that, pitter pat, here to there
points made on plotted lines
monkeys with guns
jammering about freedom and pain and sacrifice
long gone mothers wondering where the death channel is
forgotten pink skirts stuffed into mouse holes in the closet
skirts and dirt
her flirty history doomed me another son of poverty.
bitch.
line em up
pin the cushion
the weather channel is a ratings boom
smash the black windows
fuck the black dogs
thats the way, mmm
frightened spank whines coming from some back room
under bottles of jack daniels
a confederate flag
greening cheddar
spider stains
goofy grins and sins and needles stabbing soaring birds
i dont wanna die on a battle line
i dont wanna march on capital hill
i dont wanna do the blitzkreig bop
i dont wanna take a stand
i dont wanna make a memory in the sand
i dont wanna leave a blood trail
for your rotting guts to find their way up another golden ladder
taught me how to kill a million ways
taught me how to murder the man in my sights
subterfuge submissive standing on the podiums
all brown leaders go to hell
itchy in my ass as the cargo plane dives
something's sinking and it aint free
lessons lost now
chance is gone
they taught me how to kill the wrong bosses

i dig this poem, a slurry of images with bite and feelings.

i was a cargo pilot, mon.

i flew a hearse.


like the way you describe the inevitable brainwashings
dominant culture
and the alienation of despair
amen amen amen
and halleluja
JA!

thank you sir.

from your web page a link