STAFF - JAGUAR - GOD / 1400-400 B.C.
(c) John C. Morrison
onlines/offlines - an ongoing exploration of the minds bending, poetically.
literary adventures from the conscious, subconscious and unconscious.
a continuing poetic cut-up, gridlined, spiced, diced and otherwise altered for the benefit of all who dare partake... come visit often, as Sam & Harold will be updating this jam in spasms and fits....
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TAH 3 TAH ..Those ain't horns #238.(most recent incarnation 6/25/00)
Those ain't horns they're voices
in the darkness of
the universe asking some brilliant
telephone wire taps (he always answers the radio
with a history of sigh and inspiration)
harold and sam's stark raving
beasts from an old ghost
wrapping them in the artic robots line up where
gas goes up in midwest fossil furor and the rompish woman went down all the way into
saturday sunday monday workman's holiday doo dah.
hear that bare nasty truthful siren like a
trumpet in the heat of the night; they're all
lost in courtship with the moons of Jupiter..
The city says no i say yes cuz i'm a union man
seeking union with a woman who owns a
grandfather clock and pays no wages for the services i render.
those who have waited and waited will recognize the angels lament
in faithful breaths, 'over the edge' under the falls: TALLY-HO you bastards,
i understand thesinging woman ringing the bells
of midnight's century notes our iron etenity
in cumulus towering sunlight, she catches those
voting republicans in her firey hair:others voting a well intentioned perpendicular mohawk
will digest the matter, like me...biotechnology conference in the wire nest
and birds road rage to the east in front of the pained glass windows that offer no
sanctuary against mitsubishi shark attacks, who by the way, is not likely
to be voting democrat or voting labor unless this has been one big dream!
- his lover is voting nowhere, but will
she sign those union checks for the boys
the labor. she seeks liberty, equity and pride...
The sky falls on the sorry bones of
Mozambique, washing up landmines
mud and debt: www. usda.gov will get you into the eye of bigger brothers, not organic folks.
beware of 650 pages in the bible undiscovered in the
back pocket of god. she had plans for that story that didn't include you.....
sam and deja twirled their starry nights around new lovers
in the end the love story was "see ya blossoms i knew you well before the
invention of this wheel" now he embarks on new labia licking attractions, inciting the crowd inside the
gallery where a void jam on dead toast otherwise
would be just hanging out in what grows in yr
gardens of earthly delights.. out back no freeway thru these emotions.
mind expansion here needs rail bus
hiway...won the baja whale
training dulcet cyber thought so sam was the
happening coffee in this
pygymy forest brain trail unfolding:
she's walking on mars thru a bad storm of reds
her censorious jay never finds a fool in the still pond
- how wonderful it isn't -
in the Temple
of the old bus we travel far, and then she
passed my own leadership class onto paralegal realities
...ain't nuthin' new here 'cept the sun thru the spring
in my head, my total body
in it for the masses, labelling the real seeds, the one's from the ground
beneath my toes, as the standards of these foods free of
genetically corrupt corporations.
digital camera jazz says what's the difference?
he says he fucked katrina after the breakup and
made dinner for a redwing blackbird and jogged 3,000
miles under the breaking stars surrounding great whorling orion...
the garden grows in space, a place out of
the crypt...harold wondering when
entering the zone, hard hats optional? - pigs cloned -
is sam sending that cyber-riff to fight the
confederacy's last flag? whimpers in week classical
seismic breezes undulating neo concertos, or
like humans for food: well the blues
ain't new; the blues is as old as your dreams... so dream this: sun thru the spring
clouds. a pile of good soil in an appropriate place is
worth the wait, unless your desires are concrete...
follow the magic to the begining. start over and recreate
a sense of the immortal urge. time is spilling over
the edge. when the void is full, head for the exits...
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(c) sambrevard/Noh Gallery, santa rosa
(c) harold b. groyne/Garagenous Zone Studio, eugene
you are invited to return to this ongoing project!