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Terry Pierson (email)


Wait to Sleep
On top of red roof houses
Roosters dance to old jazz beats
Vacuum up cocaine
Drink cheap tequila
Roll their own cigarettes
And wait to sleep

Inside of us all are thin led wires
Attached to dry bone walls
Fragile female figures
In their fitted dresses
Are on display like flowers in vases

Pocket Thieves
Windowpane worked wonders
Froze fully for effect
At dark, cigarette vendors and
Wrist watch wearing pocket thieves
Hold yellow caution signs

I approach them with eyes down
Stopped and felt the steam off the street
Up in office building windows watches
Take turn attorneys with take time tables
Fake mind frosting showered sixty feet up

Blasphemy of the Evangelist

Please rise for the procession
Waiting for you is an army of donned robes
The poets and prophets of old
A cult following for the masses
A long off dream of a shore and some numbers
Eight, six, seven, unorthodox recession
Weíre self taught, schoolís in session
So come forward and let me tell you
What I saw in the dream of the lamb and the gate

Please stand for the gospel
An invisible son, a transparent father, a stained spirit
Like poison being sucked from a bite
A gathering of lambs with a congregation of man
Does it stop your breath? Make it stop.
The organís low, soulful scream
Through a red velvet dust

And now the sermon

These are the roses foretold before
A series of keys with a handful of mirrors
Letís go back and review the question
A baptism fount full of history
A gold grape dipped into the existent messiahís mouth
A beautiful riddle without a reason
Letís not forget about the education
Tell them whatís right but teach them whatís wrong
We are turning you over to our appointed god
May he have his way with you
With or without mercy
Please join us in a hymn
Sex crazed cattle fly to the sheep
With a slaughter of millions on their conscience
Maybe a smile or laugh in their viewing glass
Step forward for communion
Donít cry child, your mother will be back
At the end of the service
Letís review the tragedies of the past
I like to tell other peopleís stories
Project it on the wall to hide
So many eyes fixated on me
The congregation is rising without an order
A song breaks out
A soulful worship at last
We sing words when we donít know what to say
There is no limit to inspiration, just the lines on the page
We continue with the offering
The choir will entertain you while we bleed your life dry
Please focus on the star above them
Do not look down at the collection plate
Just concentrate on the flawed harmonies
Is the beast here? Yes.
A veiled acolyte carrying a cross of comfort.
Rising, rising.
Fertilization, we now separate you
Please choose a coffin shaped pew
Do not worry; youíll see your god soon
Please take note of the stained glass mirror
Now please, repeat after me
I believe in God the father almighty
I accept your Christ as mine
May the spirit come upon me
Here we were born, here we will die
Leave no part of me untouched
Kneel to receive the blessing
Come forward with only your name at the end of the service
The pastor hurries home 



Such Sad Parting



Multiple images are shown in random order

As a puzzle they tell a story




Fog released the town to nonsense

When the crossover of seasons was met

With cocktails and suspicion

It worked it's way around the clock

Twisting it's arm in desire

Forgetting that windows were revealing

And revealed her naked form to the night


Nearby a trash can watched

Received it's rhythm in unpredicted order

A lamp post shuddered

Men rode by on camels

And greeted your shield with a smile

You said you didn't know where you were going

And that home was far away


He asked you for water, you told him to wash the dishes

He sunk his hands into the painted fire

Pulled out a baby calf

Embraced it

Put it on the table

Stuck a knife through it

Sat and ate


[fast forward]


And then the fog hit his window

Pulled it apart like rubber

Reached in and grabbed him

Pulled him outside and shook him



But where to?



Somewhere close, I'm sure







Fog's story was told by an all night operator

Assisted by a confused jukebox

And all was right again


The End



One Way Window 

We were served with waterfalls of commerce
Commencing to the lighting of candles from the walls
You shook.
The bartender received her leg with a smile
A steel laced intercepted grin
She shook.
You reached around for a camera
Frozen to the floor
An oyster wordplay widow window
It looked out to a mountain where
Herds of leaves raced down the hills
And white markings in chalk
Traced around the predicted installments
Down shook.
Arms of metal reached out
And ripped their flesh from each other
The machines had come for the tribe
Flames went up and war dances shook
the earth.
Walls of plastic government hospitality
Invite the viewers in
Put them in jackets among the jackals
Close the door,
And leave them shaking.



Third of May, New York City

Birds fly in the air
Resembling  strands of smoke
That spell out numbers
And have bright lights


I bought a bird

And caged him
He sang sad songs of freedom
So I let him out


Tool of art
To medium
And the east meets west


The taboo
Reverses it's garments
As a martyr
Cages a bird


(The bird breaks free)


An art dealer
Robs a gallery
the Burand-reul
With distortion on the word need


A tree is a tree
A stone a stone
A mirror a mirror
A painting just paint


Napoleon enters
Music cues
Light hits
Sound effects are on


Soup cans in New York City
Pills in sewers
Light! s in rooms
Female fascination


(The radicals enter)


The Odalisque
Wants back in your house
She makes you jealous
So you offer her a cigarette


A violin player
Shoots his harp like a bow
Hits the people on the wall
Turned next to the soldier


Resisting the romantics
You fall for your heart
Time and again
The song wishes it saw brush strokes


The theatre of junkies
Of musicians, of lovers
Of artists, degenerates, muses
Ox, cattle, and sheep


(Sleep exits on the right)


Bare breasted liberty
Returns to society
Scoops the drugs up with forks
And runs off to rehearsal


The third class carriage
Spits out children
Tells them to grow up
Or die on the road


The war ship fails
The fish boat sails
The steam boat coughs
Wishes for more smoke


Throw the dead overboard
Feed them to controversy
Burn Greece to the ground
Build a skyline



Violin Players
Have you ever listened to each little rain drop
As they play their instruments in descent?
Some of them sing
Some play the strings
Some of them drum

One hits his violin against the glass
He made a noise.

Every once in a while I look out my window
Just to see them
While the lights circle
I catch glimpses of their faces
And hear their song

One of them says to me
"Your life in there doesn't mean anymore than me falling"
So I turn and head towards the door I built
Out of wood shavings and pill capsules
I take it down. Burn it to ash. Put it in a pipe. Smoke it.

the Beast
Paper was placed in water
Where petals float about
Lights shined through differenet colored plastic
Across the page words were made
Clear as clean blue sky

In tar
the being breathes
And forms.


A Piece of Cowardice
Our job is to have you remain seated
Ignore the animal siren howl
It echoes off the cold cement through the long industrial pipes
The machines tore up the earth

Hi, we're from the other side of where you are
Then I am not quite sure how to encounter you
Stick a fork in you? Greet you with a fish?
I haven't the slightest

So I met the down town boys up town
They had never been out of their shells
And shrieked and tore at their hair
Most of them running blindly into the city

And then I met the merchant by the fountain
Just to rummage through clocks and glass
Told him my coin was worth more than his paper
It certainly weighed more you know

I saw a man handing out wooden birds
Painted red in wooden cages (not painted)
Children ran off and threw the birds in the river
And the man pan-handled his way out of the state

Outside the house a tank with a red star sat still
There were no artificial lights, stars, room, or pay
Just three barbers and a dentist
Told to keep watch over the morals of the town
(the Preacher attended to it)

When the sun came up I met it with a spatula
Put it in the pot along with some flowers, butter, and clay
I heard the gun shot bang of the trash can
Fall flat and find myself on rubber

It's not possible to trace the route of disintegration
Feeds you as a stained cancerous cure
You twitch and ache and shit and speak and sleep and eat
But never find the drawn line door on the flimsy cardboard monument

Off your rocker, son?

Keeping Track of the Numbers
"Species count?"
The voice rang out
"Why sir, I'm the only one"
Said the little man in the middle

Just at this moment
Walls began to move about
But no one knew where they were going
Because they were hard to keep an eye on

And from the west corner of the room
Tubes came down
And sniffed up all the sugar
Leaving none for the street saxophonist

Somebody asked for color and light
As is appropriate
But we preferred to just sit in the dark
As usual

Now could somebody water the windows?
I really think it should be done
They rot and cough up balls of snot
That turn to flowers with some sun

So this madness static
(That plays throughout the land
Is the only chance we'll ever have
To go join the band)



A Man I Know

Underneath the land lived a quiet and lonely man
He kept his share of change in a jar filled up with sand
And every night at three he would come play in the band
The woodwinds were the trees and the singer was a crab

He played the saxophone and beat his head on drums
He's working for a lady full of love and full of fun
Whenever the bells ring he knows the time has come
To go and meet the dealer who sleeps beneath the sun

He buys the same jewels everyday of his life
He dresses up in pearls to make himself a wife
He cuts out his organs with the dull side of a knife
He sets up a canvas and paints himself a life

Scribes come down the hills and set the flags on fire
The alchemist on the road is looking to get hired
Osiris down the street is running with a tire
Someone get the hose, the majority's on fire

Derogatory music is played throughout the hall
The secretary begs him to articulate the call
He melts on to the floor and spreads across the wall
He passes up the summer and slips in to the fall



Chance Encounter
Buying a slice of pizza in the cafeteria line
When a small black rabbit meets me with a bottle of wine
He blinks his left eye twice and his right eye once
A rabbits way of asking for lunch

So I buy him a burger and a box of fries
And he loses the twitch in both of his eyes
He fills up a glass full of his wine
I thank him kindly and take it as mine

He sits with his paws up on the table
Talks about chewing on electrical cables
I finish my lunch and drink all the wine
"I'll see you tomorrow and thanks for your time"

The very next day I meet him again
I pick up a salad for me and my friend
At the table he has a bottle of champagne
I take it from him and ask him his name

He wiggles his nose and twitches his ears
I ask him again (incase he didn't hear)
He looks at me but doesn't say a word
He never answers (I don't think he heard)

I never saw that rabbit again
Have no way of knowing the places he's been
Either way I hope he is fine
And I hope he's not mad about wasting his time
(Who can worry about a rabbit with wine?)


Writing Anaphora
Writing anaphora from broken beds and filthy floors; reaching out of windows to get some sun.
Writing anaphora in narrow hallways with red alarms and unmarked clocks.
Writing anaphora to keep my appetite on the other side of the mile long fence.
Writing anaphora to distortion guitars and cut up voices.
Writing anaphora in match box apartments and mud bone cars.
Writing anaphora from Wal-Marts and pharmaceutical drug stores with neon light up letters.
Writing anaphora from school desks, breakfast tables, and office cubicles.
Writing anaphora in prom dresses, tuxedo rentals, and military uniform.
Writing anaphora in caskets closed buried deep in the ground.
Writing anaphora in Shakespeare verse and ballroom dress with stolen blue eye make up.


Lines (haiku)
I imagine lines
Intersecting in the air
In case of bad storms

Silver Rust
Figuratively speaking of course
All cherry drop eye and long winded metaphors
Situational volume control
Radio static plays clear and clearer
Highway patrol up in the trees
Watch chrome cars race the countryside

Cane woman and her cat
Slink around a old laundry mat
Spines bent like twigs
Appear in forties fashion and butterfly pins
Flower dress and worn grey coat
Talks about world wars and crossword puzzles

Ancient automobiles wait on green lights
Shining for the show of silver rust
Broken antennas and blown speakers
Someone is outside with the original wheel
She used it to roll down the road
Figured out there was no where worth going to



Another Life
Easter Sundays and rainy mountains
Racing down hallways alone in our world
Out in the backyard behind the chain link fence
A friend I only knew for a year
Stuck on a thorn bush
Slamming windows and using the screen's curses
Out on the same white chalk line

Pink covers soft as clouds
Blond curls in her hair
An amber star hangs from the ceiling fan
Her temper flares and my head hurts

I picked up my medicine today
At a familiar place where the faces blur
We have been reduced to such a small number
All of my words come out as long and incoherent imagery's

A flannel jacket and a Camel cigarette
Two bowls of cereal and a piece of toast
Nicotine patches stuck to every empty space of wall
A hypnotist visits on third of each month

Cinderella stories and fairy tale characters
Rock demigods with their fingers in their asses
Police men shuffle through your poems to check you out
You know you have not wrote anything since last Tuesday

Long and empty trains pass outside of her window
I am all alone with my thoughts in her room
Laying on pink covers soft as clouds
Thinking of the girl with blond curls in her hair


Fall 2005
There is a silver lining in the air.
Doorknobs turn with all the precision of a broken ankle
Small animals run across the piano keys and play a melody to the room.

5:30 A.M. glares the red letters of the radio alarm clock.
Faceless twisting forms stretch across the ground.
Dirty brown liquor reaches along the floor and into another room.

Ceiling drippings stain the blue carpet.
There is nothing but white walls in every room of this house.
One can feel the vibration of the machines in the basement.

Small red pills fill up jars a/ dishes a/ glasses.
The same empty scene fills the screen all day.
No one wakes up here and no one is ever asleep.

There is a silver lining in the air.
Doorknobs turn with all the precision of a broken ankle.
Small animals run across piano keys and play a melody to the room.


Daylight; sun across green stemmed flowers
Chainsaw running 1000 m.p.h.
Out on the lawn little men gather
Next to great white trucks
Two grey acrobatic figures are posed on the T.V.
Pink boxes full of wool a/ cloth a/ detergent
Next to the wire running along the wall
Stringed feathers and Hawaiian beads
Courtney Love in pink, yellow, and green
Wood twisted


Now It's Time
Thanks for staying around, Bob
I take myself off and rest on the chair
Sit down with the same well known families