spiney is poetry
stakotto anew dude
just met at the pub
las week and
the road the traveling
the bus rowing in and out of
cars and lanes and
arms above our heads with
screams of joy, screaming over the
sounds of howlin wolf and john mayall and
god did stevie wonder remember
the recordings i have of
little stevie wonder
one feels the heat, the world the wonder
and each word man
each word is in the moment
with the dharmic invasion of your
mindspace, the paper rolls on and
on the paper will not run out
just as the road never
shouting out the bus windows
in the arizona desert, high on
peyote and the night was a pin pricked black
eternity away until
the air came back in me
the air came back in me
would stop the breathing, there. right there
and would fly across the black hills, over the houses and the
fields and the fresh, pine air would pass through me
like gills gills
the fish gulps the air in its gills
in the gills
the air becoming fluid
the air becoming part of me each
time the darkness would end
the ride, damn wasn't that a ride! and
Cassidy, Neal friend of a guy who runs a bookstore
here in denver, well used to I bought
hundreds of books and he showed be
th e be a ttt the beat
reminders of the Denver Free University Class
showing "where the beats hung out" and
visiting a dope smoking hippie in a small apartment
off of Colfax and Washington, Pennsylvania,
wandering the train yards, taking pictures of
laura that wonderful woman, punk rock cartoonist
who knew the deep caverns of the blackness of your
she lived as a beatnik down on thirteen and Washington
thirteenth and washington
once held the swp, i was in the ysa chapter,
thoughts and arguments and billows of blue cigarette smoke
filtered out into the dope slingin air, catching fire at a deal there
or here, thanksman, hey any toot?
they moved out, more working class neighborhood, say they
the rent was cheaper over there
and then steve showed up
and we just kept keeping it alive
when jerry's record manager and harmonicaneous extra
ordinaire brought his entire collection
save a few thousand back at the house and
the blues and the jazz and the swing
man we were groovin to Joe turner and his get outa that bed
and wash your face and hands
blues boys and blues clubs, did ya notice that we run
into poets and writers and painters and dancers
and what does the rest of the world settle for out there
we can keep runnin through another town, change identity
chance moments of perfection behind us and now snap
and ahead of us
collection will be completed by the deadline.
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