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OBS! Denna textfil ingår i ett arkiv som är dedikerat att bevara svensk undergroundkultur, med målsättningen att vara så heltäckande som möjligt. Flashback kan inte garantera att innehållet är korrekt, användbart eller baserat på fakta, och är inte heller ansvariga för eventuella skador som uppstår från användning av informationen.
### ### ### ### ### #### ### ### ### #### ### ### ##### ### ### ### ### ### ### ### ### ### ##### ### ### ########## ### ### ########## ### ### ### ### Underground eXperts United Presents... ####### ## ## ####### # # ####### ####### ####### ## ## ## ## ##### # ## ## ## #### ## ## #### # # #### ####### ####### ## ## ## ## ##### # ## ## ## ## ## ## ####### ####### # # ####### ####### ####### [ Three Poems ] [ By Scott Poole ] ____________________________________________________________________ ____________________________________________________________________ Three Poems by Scott Poole ------------------------------------- The One Poem I Wrote In San Francisco ------------------------------------- The gap toothed Negro swivels like the sun in an alley. A Chinese draws a sword and hales a bus which runs him over. Everyone flows to the right wandering in with the cars a lone security cop moves left. The swirling Negro leaves San Francisco painted in salt, off to direct his new mental picture. If I could just lie down with all these buildings on my back. Then, in the morning rise like a giant and walk down the coast. ---------------------------------- The Ex-Porn Star Retirement Center ---------------------------------- In the future there will be eighty year old porn stars. I could retire with them. Watching their bodies under simple old lady dresses. Wandering the building with a slow gate, one hand stroking the wall, mouth open, drool falling out. And seeing their eyes turn on subjects of love and photographs. It would be wonderful with a mug of coffee giant old house by the woods. A blockbuster and take home pizza near by. I would want each to have an advanced degree sitting on old couches, talking of Schopenhauer, Neruda, Thoreau, and Fudd. Listening to Bach and Metallica. Maybe no talking, just the sound of birds on the screen porch a couple days deep in July. Maybe just a slow gathering of images as I always have, relishing hands cooking, mustached lips, smiles, feet in nurses shoes shuffling. The quiet way a leaf might talk the symphony of forest, among bodies that have survived almost an Olympic event, the old porn stars and me. -------------- The Minor Part -------------- My foot on the gas petal the flower growing deeper into the car, the road, the time passing beneath my passive foot. Toes lay limp, but aware as bees waiting out a storm. No more energy than needed resting on a pin head, my foot dripping honey down my ankle this little piggy checked into a Zen center and never came home, taking me away from here in a blooming of machine, foot, and man playing out my minor part. --------------------------------------------------------------------------- uXu #362 Underground eXperts United 1996 uXu #362 Call RIPCO ][ -> +1-312-528-5020 ---------------------------------------------------------------------------