Tag: Poetry

#This is some bad poetry from a journal that has a pink bandana cover. It starts with a
#newspapaer clipping dated June 2, 1989

Coalitions

Will all fall to
the icepick
fearing that they
will unify thus
isolating a few
who I will crush
with said ice pick

Democracy is the problem
milk is an accpetion
cream usually sinks
just as freezing liquids
generally condense
consolidate

But the ice in
my glass tells me
you are wrong

you who I don’t
know must stand aside

I joined nothing and
will crush nothing save
the fear of not joining
for the icepick brings
liberation and Tyro
new it and
Pound knew it and
It shall be known

for the notes have
fallen flat – which
really means sharp

so step aside
run and hide

the picking is through
and the choosen few
know who the y are
and who they aren’t

#This is some bad poetry from a journal that has a pink bandana cover. It starts with a
#newspapaer clipping dated June 2, 1989

Spinal damage my
eye
get who needs
estasy
when there are
legal
pharmacy’s!

The liberation of
consciousness from
Brain damaged hypocondriact
homophobics will
aid our struggle

Though they have
stolen our language
patriot
peace keeper
aids

We must recreate
look back
do
nothing

Fear nothing least of all
salt
the saline of purity

Rediscover old Rules!
and share them
with hom we at
are warring for the
time is near

We have the resources
the historic traditions
the chemical motivation
the genetic obligation

make it new
so it sticks like

for I am no longer
rubber the fences have
fallena nd rather then
pulling them back up
I will return to the
forest with Bic
medium pts. Anti-
fork folk music
and my drum
liberated from a
mass protest against
the war – stollen
from chants of
Hang King George

Thump Thump Thump

Away from Ganters waltz
the anarchy of honest
anti-hate hostility and
to the woods – where
we have always run

out running the tractors
standing on hills
scan.

the sun of man.

ok ok

varrrruuuummmm

the vacuum is off
months of dirt
distroyed in
visits
fits
faires of

vacumming spleandor
on and on it speeds
sucking away the
corrosion of the
past

Clank clank clank
the bronze
of a penny
discarded an Age
ago is swept up
sucked into the
savage teeth
beaten reshaped

spit out
and reabsorbed the
beating reforging never
stops

varrruuummm
again we are off
the bronze coin
finally devaoured
swallowed up as
more newer fresher
dirt is attacked

A new room
new problems

Wire – brass wrapped
in blasters are engaged
lifted over the
vaccuum

dropped behind
underpassed

with out fear for their application are
obvious

around the chair

out the door
clean

finished
ok ok

#This is some bad poetry from a journal that has a pink bandana cover. It starts with a
#newspapaer clipping dated June 2, 1989

I shall create a fondu for
you and file my records
Fugs and Joan; Zappa and
Guthrie on disc all
Alphabetical – all purely
educational in a
rejection of the iamb
move to hexameter
funding a new direction
text published on a
stollen photo copy machine
or resold ditto
while war news tries
to refocus and categorize
Reality – busy work
Which can
unlock a freer more
dogmatic system of info
explossions – repeating off
beats allocating meaning
from a focus found
nowhere
We went and saw now
let us purchase a new blade

#This is some bad poetry from a journal that has a pink bandana cover. It starts with a
#newspapaer clipping dated June 2, 1989

Own every thing
yet I must remember
not to hate my enemies
they no they play a game
I must not take it seriously
remember what the airforce
term stroke really is
meant to imply I think
my pen is dead on
well it may come back
I will not

January 15 is a real
dead
line
Just like the one in
the sand

a nice family peom.

#This is some bad poetry from a journal that has a pink bandana cover. It starts with a
#newspapaer clipping dated June 2, 1989

I think being called a
Target would be the
biggest insult the
fasciest military machine
could make against
living flesh.

When I am targetted
I want my hands
raised – my white flag
waving no other thought
but peace

Things have always been
this bad – I never
remember good news
no news really must
be good news

Yet silence surely equals
death

#This is some bad poetry from a journal that has a pink bandana cover. It starts with a
#newspapaer clipping dated June 2, 1989

Shite
We Need Focus

Perpindicula polarized
lenses have been
controling us for
far to ong – write write

free the eye

Yeah thats what I
mean!

Release details – death,
poverty, etc – release
reality and create

Through cut-ups
Through maxamilism
Through honesty

Fear commitment
run from the future
towards your path

#This is some bad poetry from a journal that has a pink bandana cover. It starts with a
#newspapaer clipping dated June 2, 1989

As artists we are constantly trying to over express the “common” response to natural catastrophy – here I not only speak of the droves of earthquke art flowing from San Fran but also of Budowski’s homeless revalations; howerver, I feel that an artist can use less to do more. Mailer point the way in Tough Guys Don’t Dance or Why are We in Vietnam – one must shape fiction – not by stretching the trauma of reality,, but by stretching the imagination – so that it ecompasses everyday experience and thereby allows universal enlightenment to become possible – i.e., we all must understand each other all of the time for enlightenemt to occur.

#This is some bad poetry from a journal that has a pink bandana cover. It starts with a
#newspapaer clipping dated June 2, 1989

readjusting in bed from freud

I wonder about personal
credit balance

no nono no no.

This is

Toccata

Afree Fugue – less toccata
resignates in the
Atmosphere as I
awake

Ra glory encompasses
me immediately

I float I fail
still smiling.

#This is some bad poetry from a journal that has a pink bandana cover. It starts with a
#newspapaer clipping dated June 2, 1989

This morning as group
grope blared
I feared for the
fate of the Fugs

And for myself

more then idealistic
drivel

freedom.

Teenageness allows for
unanimous consent to
revise lengthen ammend explore
and fear

I no longer do this
Instead I try to hide
from freud.

#This is some bad poetry from a journal that has a pink bandana cover. It starts with a
#newspapaer clipping dated June 2, 1989

as a

The bulbus blob
approaches the podium
preaching hydrations
whilue
A young children throw
a fire
cracker in
frustration
on ram
The new freeway construction
is completed before
the 34 year old gate
repair specialist returns
from work.