Studio8 - Uniting the Arts

two seasons here
soon there will be only one

the smell of burning leaves in the air
in 1959
on a college campus
happy so happy to be there

life my freshman year
who knew I was the eternal sophomore
I am going back
but there are no leaves to burn anymore

no leaves to burn
no palm fronds to spare
fall is a metaphor in the desert
not even night falls
everything morphs, slowly like a mirage

I have the skeletons of crows
perched on my shoulder
I feed them stale cupcakes &
the tough heels of bread
I think they love me for it
they always call out to let me know
when they come to the neighborhood

i got crow trouble
they caw and watch me from up above
and fly off
they got other cawing to caw
in other territory

we were friends once
we will be again
i know my crows
and they know i know

I speak to the crows
in the language of food
do that & they will etch your face
into their dark feather encased neurons forever
picking you out from thousands of others
every time

country crows
well-fed and high and mighty
balancing on tightropes

they are sculpted in honour
ironwork salutations
middle eastern crows

double-agents, spying over borders
are they for peace?
one can only encrypt

encrypt
encode
one dark wing
open against the sky
messages on the wing
the slow moon does
not even guess what has
gone before it

along the border
buzzards circle above
the feast

"four a dead in ohio"
a thousand in Juarez
the smell of burning leaves

the downward spiral of cutlture
metaphors and fluorescence

I always say too much
when I say anything atall
the rythms of a brain
wired for sound

and the madman said the hindu's built the temple
and the jews wired it for sound
lithium lithium running round my cranium
take a pill jack
ascent and you are surely sane
or smoke um if you have um

I love the smell of burning leaves
and the colors of decadence

arise for the prize
let fall the sky
it's not too much
to say "ouch" on the couch
or dance or prance
or shake the lance
ya don't say too much,Jack, though sometimes I'm expecting you in a '73 Volkswagen and here you come in a freight train two miles long with everything getting outta your way. Usually though you're going just easy enough for me to hop a car & settle in for the long ride home.

decline and reclined
I could try to
"nerd this shit up"

but it's just a trashy trucker song
about Buddha cool on his stool
and Jesus at the wheel

with robert earl keene
blowin not exactly blue grass
"when you are swerving on life's highway..."

sometes ted williams struck out
but mostly he got hits
and he never tipped his hat to those boston beanos

fall
fall into beauty
fall of a culture
a flowering

how do the french say it
rimbaud or buddreau

the evel flowers of da da
the politics of despair
nothing worse than a jew with a protestant work ethic

it was a 59 porsche cabriolette
a lot like a a 73 vw.

sometimes I am loaded
sometimes I come on sideways like a jack knife

sometimes I am safe as houses
"oh light that blinds
watch out for me
I can not see"

jesus take the wheel
jesus that few know
only christian zionists
looking for general jesus
on ward christian soldiers

islamochristian errorists
and a govern ment
is only a government

theology and theocracy not my cup of tea


something like a democratic theocracy of the mediocrity
always a ray of hope, like a brautigan poem

an 18 wheeler makes a fine weapon
they say

twenty twenty drivers
"I am ripping out my rear view"

I guess that is enough weirdness for one text box

hammer hammer