It's Wednesday, April 2, 1997, at 12:00 PM
I took a Greyhound bus to Des Moines, Iowa
It was a six-hour profanity demon hellride
At 6:00 PM, the Greyhound bus arrived at the Des Moines bus station
Two of my music fans picked me up and drove me to Fort Dodge, Iowa

Hell Greyhound bus ride
Hell Greyhound bus ride
Hell Greyhound bus ride
Hell Greyhound bus ride

At 2:00 PM on Friday, April 4, 1997, I went on a radio show joyride
I whipped out my Technics KN3000 keyboard and sung four rock songs on 88.1 KICB
At 6:30 PM, I rode with my friends to Knights of Columbus for sound checking
At 9:30 PM, I got up on stage and sung twenty rock songs in front of 200 rock fans

Hell Greyhound bus ride
Hell Greyhound bus ride
Hell Greyhound bus ride
Hell Greyhound bus ride

At 11:20 AM on Saturday, April 5, 1997, I caught the Greyhound bus to Chicago, Illinois
The Greyhound bus left Des Moines, Iowa at 11:30 AM
It was an eight-hour profanity demon hellride without music
At 7:30 PM, the Greyhound bus arrived at the Chicago bus station
I then got off the intercity bus and yelled like a stupid fool

Hell Greyhound bus ride
Hell Greyhound bus ride
Hell Greyhound bus ride
Hell Greyhound bus ride

Kinkos, it's the new way to office

This poem is green
Would you buy this poem?

This poem is do-it-yourself
backyard garden green.
This poem is save the world
give peas a chance green;
this poem is azure sky
squeezing the golden sun
all over the world green.
Could you buy this poem?

This poem is apples and oranges
farmer’s artist market green.
This poem has
leaves as pillows
and blankets as grass;
this poem is a lil’ patch of green
earth purchase me plot;
this poem is  
100%
recyclable
disposable,
sustainable
  (after all it has gotten this far)
You should buy this poem.

This poem is green,
its’ tyro-technics
shooting out of asphalt cracks.
This poem is a snot-nosed brat
full of SASS
(short attention span sentences)
This poem is the hope of audacity.
This poem is fumbling with bra straps
and tongue-tied techniques,
this poem isn’t old enough
to know any better, it’s wet
behind the ears green
petting zoo pellets green
willing to SCREAM green
but not part of
a gang green
this poem is all alone
with its words
Buy this poem?

This poem is green
Its envious of
solar panel studios with eyes on the price
of a venti economy
This poem is the green-eyed monster
of product placement pick-o-the profit
This poem WANTS to make
consumer obedience the easy culprit.
But really…
This poem just wishes it could sing
Won’t you buy this poem?

This poem is green.
This poem has no half-life,
shelf life or
night life.  
This poem exists solely in this moment
of your imagination.

This poem has milk carton desperation.
This poem is begging for change.
This poem was stolen from all of you.
This poem is not for sale.
Buy This Poem!

too much interference
has been extensively run
by those who hold
the kingmaker's gun

as a consequence
of this kind of thing
the democratic process
is under a clouded ring

the flow of votes
which were meant
for the out in front candidate
got subverted somewhere
in the ballot box's victory pate

foreign countries meddling
with other country's domestic autonomy
so the results of elections
will satisfy their sovereignty

transgressors are employing
their technics from nations far away
to determine who'll wear
a crowning array

Monks whose ears have heard
The sage advice of Buddha
Walk shoeless, smiling

Temples adorn sky
Like regal glimmering gems
On Earth’s diadem

They are exquisite
Sanctuaries for roaming souls
In need of counsel

Cherry blossom drifts
Afloat on gentle zephyr
Sweet breath of summer

Babies with big eyes
Peer up to the mountains
Sensitive spirits

Here the animals
Are totems of other worlds
Made accessible

Through deep reflection
Which surrenders the soul to
Deep primal chaos

The forgotten ways
Lie dormant like volcanoes
I await the first

Fluid eruption
Of lucid lava, making
Me awake, conscious

Grand mythology
Dwells in these magic islands
Centuries of tale

In Harajuku
The market awash with style
Romance in neon

****** dresses
And lace umbrellas, dainty
Adorn boys and girls

Wild self-expression
That dandy philosophy
Embodied in style

Land of monks and youth
Japan a portal, doorway
To past and future

Where temples mingle
With technics and skyscrapers
Strange modernity

My immortal record player Technics SL D303 entrench's
something  recently acquired
possessing physical  music.
LP covers, with track listings
printed as intended,
to be read,
one records' perfection;
Jackie Lomax's début
got me  into his Three album
thanks again E bay.

If I possessed Batch 256309
I would be more altruistic,
listening to Brian Friel
growing stronger
on my Technics SL-D303,
faking my wall
with femme Claudine Longet,
loading expired Elite Chrome
into my stead Canon EF 1973.
.

Every time you coast the ridges of my ribs,
With the moist of tongue or the fingertip,
Every time with your lips, technics, a precision,
And crows, and ravens, and dark lipstick,
     Everywhere. Every time,
     Your body desensitizes
          My all.*

© 2015 J.S.P.

Most known for peace and a rest after a long day
To quench away the body tire
now comes the time when two thoughts
get enticed and carried by the moment
lifting themselves off the hook of strangeness

the battle embraced by two with no cheering or referee
one goes up while the other is down
and later an exchange of positions.

the strongest take longer while the week survive for minutes
cries and sighs in motion
based on their mother tongues
tired in fan of a battle, after each exposing different technics
the battle is worn with just a single gun in the field
enemy surrenders later in the glory of joy
followed by a time of contemplation for only the man can
blow the whistle to seize fire:
when he has no further strength to run and chase