Thread: Beefheart
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Old 06-02-2014, 11:46 AM
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<3Less (Offline)
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Join Date: Apr 2012
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She came upon us with a force that belittles

Her writing—the withering, gatling staccato
it was irresistible.

I, along with scores of others, would log on
daily to see if she had posted.

The view number would spin upward
like the odometer on a cross country
rocket car.

Her prose would reach down behind your
waistband and
move you with a
supple talented hand.

She was a teenaged Libertine
who penned passion better than any
Lothario could live it,

and then there was Gomez,
a work that was crafted in a day that will stand for decades.

It was an exhilarating era at the Beat.

Eventually (and everything happens eventually)
some took umbrage with her musing.

The focus shifted from frenzied frothing to
futile flaming.

A few more pieces, pieces that explored
growth with the forms, and *blip*,
she was gone.

Time went on;
she turned twenty one, and no
longer had to cage alcohol.

I wondered if she had found a bar
to live in
(many of us enter this phase, eh Hank?),

and if she had, I wondered if she would
come back out.
(Some of us never ... you get it).

A month ago, while riding my bicycle
past the bus depot, I saw a
young, slim, barefoot, white girl with
multicolored hair.

She was makin' for the derelict group.

I wondered, for a moment, if it was

if she had come south to Florida,

and I wondered if she had taken up
(yeah, the exotic "art" type).

Then there! A comment (rare enough
from her during the heyday) on the poetry

So now I know she has survived.
So now I can feel a little green
shoot of optimism slipping up through
the sludge of these times.

A one-leafed, weak tendril in the crisp, chill dawn
that waits to see if she will bring it on.

Ghandi sounds like an awfully nice guy. Looks like we could all learn from him.

Last edited by <3Less; 06-02-2014 at 11:52 AM..
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