Resurgence (Sunday April 25th 2010)

So Cammie Wells got up and it was daylight,
She planned a book or a show or something.

She took my hand and passed me a pen: Bic. blue.
and a notebook: marble black and white of course.
When I got here I thought I would just read and then scram
Hit it back over the Bayonne or the Goethals or some shit like that...
the way it may be if one of us,
or all of us,
got our shit together at the same time.
Yeah I know I know,
I don't live here anymore I'm in limbo--but i
want.
to.
commune.
I know a girl with a camera,
girl with a guitar,
boy with a spraycan,
woman with a paintbrush,
we
all
creating wherever we are.
sudden sound
amps
speakers
we get on the edges
of the carpet and
converge.
I know it's been so long since I felt comforted
or comfortable
but comfort here it lives.
We all think we forget but don't.
We know
You know
I know
We just know how to live out loud.
I mean back in the day these things would go all night:
crack a bottle,
spark a spliff and
way
too many
cigarettes.
I need
I need
that old feeling coming back to me and all it seems to take is this room:
you sing
we sit
i write
he paints
she photos
we all sit and
just be.
all the people who don't have agendas-that's why
that's why this works.
She spawns a verse and it all comes together.
Life like it used to be
how it should be lived
On the beach,
in the cove,
writing and yelling at the waves,
daring lightning to take us away.
and now a
RESURGENCE
There is something about creativity that spreads...
electric neon ions
floating freely through my head,
Something about creating just does us so much good.
Little beauty says she should be in a concert--just about the sweetest thing I can ever hear,
honey so heartfelt at just eight years old.
Friendships new and lasting
none grown cold,
we not old
hand to hold: we need the songs to stretch and be
loud loud louder than makes sense.
Lyrics oh lyrics say I'm not losing my head,
being one just a room but one
many
in
a
few.
So much in a few: an artist, two or five
written words bleed forth
spoken
sung
slung on a page,
and film spools forth,
recorded bliss and
damn
This beauty on a stool can sing a poet's thoughts.
your home is where your art is
your home is where your art is
I am my home but homeless still.
We live the longest in ink and paint and songs and
inspiration hitting like a fucking bolt of
cracking flash sizzle snap.
Pages and pages of my black and whites,
Leaves of your sheets,
Chords of your voice and notes long forgotten and remembered again.
Now here we are and here we sit and here we sing and write and snap and shoot and paint,
and here we are like friends for years just met but yet here we sit and kick it like little kids on a stoop sharing stories of simpler times but better still,
she spawns
i scrawl
it was there just a song or a scrawl or a verse no more pain
nothing hurts no complaints and i see the world through paint and red wine
as we create...
and just see what goes on you see,
I need this to be me,
to write to think to scream:
Music so sweet on a canvas so stark like walls on streets,
Ink that just flows like blood on sheets
in veins like
teeth all a-twitch
like sun in a murky sky.
When we all meet it's like being home and I miss being home-
just fucking about way too long without roots or even converses on concrete like visions and your green eyes floating up to me,
This is good and bright and alive and this is home,
even when there is nowhere to live home is this...
CONVERGENCE
Yes god can be a mother mother sun we hear and when i scream I know we all have these messed up ideas of what that god that mother that sun that son and daughter go,
and inspiration gets to flow.
Where does it go where should we go-when so uprooted?
but strong
rootless but strong
rootless ruthless rules that crush and stomp and bleed so we can
be us be free and upend everything:
creeping and fleeting
showing and flowing music spawns thoughts-throwing and growing.
You have always been we will always be all I need is this feeling to think
to flow to blast
and feel like we could just stop thinking and savor the sweet,
Keep drinking and follow a beat which doesn't even cover it i know.
When I was
alone

skip a line

someone muted my poem...
till I saw it again
put my head down sunburnt crown,
a missed call on my phone you found.
Notes flow and blossom--grow
We all get insanely inspired and will it to be...it cracks like fire.
Lets keep going I don't want an end,
keeping time with new friends of mine
snapping
fingers
tapping
feet,
no walking away from inspiration this sweet.
CONVERGE
RE-SURGE
just don't send me back to that place with no words.