The art in Art Music Poetry #19, to #50 represents the debut show at Golden Belt
in Durham NC. That will be June 19, 2015. Email for more information.
The world’s a lesser place today,
my friend Kurt has passed away.
He wrote of one-foot pubic hairs,
monkey house, foma, atomic glares.
Each time a deer comes through our yard
I see one fenced in Kurt’s canard.
One May at Hobart’s graduation
he told parents, in his estimation
they had wasted their hard-earned dough
by allowing their spoiled children to go
to a school more like a holding tank
where beavers opened and drunkards drank.
He did not expect to be invited back,
but the cap-robed kids had laugh attacks.
With Kurt and Molly Ivins gone,
who’s left to light up things gone wrong?
Who will publish, who will read
the next attack on corporate greed?
Who will stand, sing and holler
about the way they spend tax dollars?
Bokononism lights a fire in sand,
foot to foot, hand in hand,
after Ice-Nine depletes the earth
of all its water, little mirth,
except to sit and masturbate,
everyone dead from one mistake.
The marines were tired of getting wet,
Time to re-read Vonnegut.