Alice Cooper Reflects Upon Super Imposed Concepts

Here is a print I did of Alice Cooper. I later inked a poem that I thought would compliment him.

Creative Journey continues as I work to make Poetry a Visual Art.

In the coal bin all cocks look the same,
eager beaver whoos her much too fast with ash in fingers,
with furnace embers that used to be candle tips before
romance left the building.

If I could have seen the next corner the prelude would be neat as prose. Only binoculars are dreams unseen and mystified by the seasons that surround, in orbit of
starry systems & wronged wavelengths.

I read of the prophet as I sucked my cigarette
hoping to never go blind or be without breath. Hope.
Hope up against the walls or revealing it’s essence in a secret flute of air that you only catch before a sudden
breath. Hope the last to die.
Silent reels of it spread through bronchial lungs &
thread verdant veins of fat oak leaves.

I have seen wrinkles of bark on the faces that pass. Widows peek behind their curtains with candy floss hair in vale –

the best entertainment will come from memory. I must make mine good.

Follow a scent of something brilliant…
Search, salvation, salutations, salty copulation, revelations, foot & paw prints & lacerations,
random rendezvous, to bitch and praise all empty & encapsulate
to fill for the sake of a simple sip from the cup of life.

i want to remember her grape…dead potency of berries and bearers of all that has made me tingle, die and resonate.
Come and read or listen for a few none will matter but all have gathered children in a maze of demons do not handle guns with care but they talk of poetry from their tower
they speak of mirrors and doors made of soul, the laws of fluidity apply to the streets, individually there is none
just an interplay of mass, time and space.

Send messages from the precipice so young can falter and sing to the voids…supersonic freefall sugar face striped with candy colours within the matrix of mind
make it matter.


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