found poems from film #1

 I used to make conceptual art in the form of poetry. Or vice versa. Versa vice. poetry in the form of conceptual art. 

Then I stopped and just became myself reveling in the poetry of self. 

Boring?

Let's get back to it, seeing ourselves through others. Let's start with a series of found poems from film:

Palm Royale

It's all a blur

a hazy crazy blur

"Try, Maxine!"

All I do is try.

All I ever wanted was to belong

to be a somebody in this world

But there's a catch 

when someone wants 

to be a someone in this world.

And that catch is:

Everybody else.

First Two Lines From a Dream, Followed by Lines Written Immediately Upon Waking

First Two Lines From a Dream, Followed by Lines Written Immediately Upon Waking


Sweet leaf Keats drew my whole life over
It gave flesh to me

Tumbling over mountains over
rivers, through valleys
like a borg in heat

SHE stoned me
and cried for me

I let down my dress
and went to
heaven

Absolved of nothing
yet resolved to everything
I entreated the sun

Infrared rays reveal
astrological scars
amidst the ruins,
like a farmer's car
amidst faint
festoons of
pansies.

New song, with lyrics by Darin Stevenson and myself

The Puddle Piano

(set to tune of The Gatlin Brothers "All the Gold in California")


G She told some little children who never read her poems
That all the puddles in the world led to other D worlds...

like a puddle of G water with the sun shining on her
is full of the reflection of the shiner her D self

G or a puddle of jello in red or green or yellow
is molded like a meadow of cherry lemonlime D snow

chorus

Imagine a C piano arising from a
G puddle though, but there's only this room D really.
Even if it’s filled with G stars


G Suppose I got a piano? Bold in pianissimo!
and everyone came to listen. Or no one came at D all.

Let’s say, instead, that G judges came. or maybe some surveillors
a whole sea of assailers to D drown all the notes

Some dreams might be G inside me. And even the piano.
Some spirits eviscerate D Ancient urgen G cies.

chorus

C Imagine a piano arising from a G puddle though
But there's only this room D really.
Even if it’s filled with G stars
stars D no one.
could possibly ob G serve.


- words liberally borrowed from my friend Darin Stevenson

(first draft)

the piano puddle song (set to tune of all the gold in california)

G She told some little children. ( Who never saw her book tho)

That all the puddles in the world...Led to other D worlds...

G like a puddle of water, with the sun shining on her

is full of the reflection

of the shiner herself

G or a puddle of jello, in red or green or yellow

is molded like a meadow,

of cherry lemonlime snow

G Suppose I got a piano?

Bold in pianissimo,

and everyone came to listen.

Or no one came at D all.

G Let’s say, instead, that judges came.

or maybe some surveillors

a whole sea of assailers

to D drown all the notes

G some dreams might be inside me.

And even the piano.

Some spirits eviscerate. D

Ancient urgencies.

C imagine a piano arising from a G puddle tho

But there's only this room D really.

Even if it’s filled with G stars

stars D no one.

could possibly ob G serve.

Too best to love

Anahid you were standing there, next to the desk, trying to say what Eternity was all about. I couldn't hear you, your voice was so low, like a whisper, but I could feel your breath. It was slowly arriving from the right, while in the left Paganini played through time and space into a Smartboard speaker. I was caught between the two. I asked you the author was and you didn't know. It didn't matter. But I wanted you to know. You said the poem was about "being abroad". You said you didn't really know how to put it. You whispered it, "it's about not putting all of your joys in one basket." The moment was eternal. I knew it couldn't last, even in the moment of feeling it, grafted it onto myself as something eternal, went into it completely, lingered, maybe you could say, wallowed in it. 

Clarice, I was leaning over reading when you walked up. You weren't as shy. It was me this time, softly saying to you, "Eternity. It's about being abroad. I don't know the author." You were caught suspended it seemed to me between Paganinni's ancient fiddle of fire, and my cool breath.  

Sue, there you were, on fire, so cooly, so I did due diligance and got to know you better through Emily's letters. Duly noted. Every time the word Eternity shows up in a poem, it is forever more redolent of you. Paganini was invited to one of your parties, but tragically, he was afraid to cross the ocean. Now he's stuck in time and you are forever free.

Gertrude. On fire on fair fire unfettered you shew, you show, you shew the show. The show you shew unfettered you, unshoes the fair notion of fire. The eternal flame is in the saying of the same. The fiddle of Pagannini solves the riddle of the speech, eternally. 

I can't go on. I must go on. 

Frank, I knew I was going to have to Dick 

Tracy you too, like a retrofuturist wristwatch,

which now is just so...so... yesterday. I'd

rather hang out with you in Eternity, dear,

while Pagannini solves the mystery of Joe. 

"It's the dinner party of my dreams."