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The Exquiste Corpse Poetry Page part one

This page is dedicated to many friends, among them the Surrealist Collaborative Group, who met by chance a few years ago


Exquiste Corpse Poem by Arthur Spota
and Andrew Torch

- Age emptied the essence of presence from a future
time whose purity appeared as a sillouette
I needed two different eyes to see. Knowing nothing better than to fill the random
with cobalt changing skies, I become a brilliant vertigo of vermillion
vapour and you, a labyrinth with the temporal
latitude of apparitional grace. How beautiful to be a palpable cog in the earth's loin The passion of our steps aching echoing where the winds are desperate for the music of this strange moment played upon our veins as the sun is forged in the palm of your hand. How many times have we scored the streets Searching for refuge Amidst grandiose lovers where space vanishes. That is: I saw a way out of this vast indigo whose colour is the sonnet of children who
stroke tedium in a dream where clouds are made to walk the whisper of their name. Yet even the simplest of forms knows not the days
left in their steps, why should I? So fleeting and sometimes so few every waking moment should not be like the last. Sometimes it is the beauty of just being. Being, breathing, Not following time, reason or weather but allowing the self
to be enveloped by the smell of honey, the taste of the sun,
the feel of clover.
Not following logic, alertness, or patterns, but allowing
the wooden bird to be your guide. You, the essence of a butterfly landing on my headÖÖ Knowing nothing, but feeling all.

C. 2002 Arthur Spota
and Andrew Torch

'Two Halves of The Same Poison' An Exquisite Corpse Text By Richard Dotson and Arthur Spota
A courtyard holds a breeze of dusty time all buried in quicklime at the abode of judges double-parked at the tide eyes smiling wickedly, wide instant pale witch in black appears at a hall of strangers rounding conundrums of their ectoplasm unfurling like the telephone coil linking the crag of the cruel whip to a lul in our lover's garden. Her time has outweighed its celestial welcome. Her spell has summoned apparitions from the taroted walls of green, green space, her legs in a ball and her dazzling tongue closed around the wrought- iron fuscias and two transparent muses. Her belly in a backward loop held strange fascination for a vertical mermaid at the threshold chimed by the brotherhood of nmemonic (sic) radial arcs seen in dew as distracted attractors. Carefully remember the bicycle bar thrush mouse. Endangered species sitting in her love to sooth it's claws of green glass finely chopped and diced by the buttocks of that long tooted Vatican Bishop, his inner night a conflagration where he was deflowered by the lingerie and secret breast of wisdom. Last seen, he had sped into the sleeping streets to become an imaginary emblem for the League of Inviolates, their great seal shivering above Battery harbour where June undresses for the boondocks of the death- opium messiahs. Their triage of holy matter sank into the Bush of the Tipper with a gore a tush a gush A bore with a snore a lush with a whore All daintily squirting the cream at the screen with pursed lip oooh's and politico aah's cadavered, and pillaged i feel ripe for a score bored empty rant in a can of coffe related coffin quips runts of the litter bugging the sitter with all this story of two-faced bullshitters who duck for cover crying we ain't no quitters hap hazardly weeds grown up on these streets proud western and frigged up deluxe martyrs and bigots yanking them spigots truck drivin' studs chewin mud Got itches for bitches they never limp knowed. I talk a to Artie, say a Domino 40 She tell me now how you gonna act like you know which wind did this thing to the kid at the short shot-filled goal seekin' missile high school relief fund activated by a NEED to grow grow grow them cigarettes, poot poot portabella lucky fella. The brisk of his whoosh is a shadowy rush on the breath of the bush in the midst of it's thrush. Lucky at love? Unlucky at virile dalliances. Your enemies are never as dangerous as the sun condensed into a glossary of granite, but they still hold power, you know, still hold you pricks in their sway, in their way, I was never fleeced like the geese with the vulgar mesmerisms. Unsullied, my monologue flattened into motion. First, the deep sea pranced on my head like Pedro with a bad hallucination, secondly, my rods were sown to the belly of my immediate surroundings, cicadas at the bottom of my gagged swan swore off the hard stuff, then turned back to the steps where the Danube met the swarming fragrances of shoddy workmanship. Black sand, erected to the young woman who has just entered this side of illusion, was symbolic of X, and yet it has never had an effect on anyone but you. What will remain of the day when you forge for little brown boxes in a heap of bread in the sun, in the sleep of dead on the run? In the mingle of sighs that rise from the watchfulness of forgetting? This land fell short of the vertical richochet. Mr. Shallow broke into the mirror of the United Fakes of America on a rather balmy night on the back of a bird of paradise, only to have pity served in a nightjar to the hawthorn of space and time. You've entered the sweeping shame of your prayers only to thin the veil out to fear's wall, instant thinners or spirits you wait, yet it was futility's distance to ask questions here shivering anxious and free to cry at a hat's drop in the sea, to the sun, after the curl up under the chair, our proud massive orational lipstick in a corn meal field in that we do not vote, nor could any vote as lasers capture the old geezers caught in the lawns of enslavened Lakes starting left out left over right away right? Twelve of a few to be uncle five idling at crawlspace in elephant ear traffic and dive in the pinhead of star jointed pinwheels of cabbage and craw, there at the very beginning of Autumn's veins, civil arms flailing. We're talking a million twisting souls on the Nile. Two hundred thousand circling the raga of shackeled plains. Five hundred chewing on the tropic secrets of harlot bitches whose arms cradle them in lies. Seventy five drinking from the chakras hidden over to conceal the medusa of lost hours. Five, roaming the rheutorical vortex of Lazarus playing his horned flute. Which brings us to Two. Two to rage Two to cast blows Two to tear the wallpaper from the fourth floor of lovely manners. In essence, Two halves of the same poison. C.

Streets of New York Exquiste Corpse... -compiled by Claudia Alick ('streetgirl')

Yellow Caution Tape Stab Yourself The Pshychos, Cigarette butts crushed like hearts of the innocent Not quite Cigarettes, Nothin else to do. Holy Diver, youíve been down too long you can hardly see You ought to come up for air before...before... You put on a costume and your ear falls off. You drink a six pac and love saves the day The internship burns along with those landlords Who run the town of poop, poop town they call it. Crappy directions equal flying eggs Lines and lines of foam. For cleaning the bathroom floor Colonís are warehouses of the soul And a few are pure and empty, but most, full. Farts have such personality, floral, musky, earthy, bull and sometimes farts push you all the way up-hill and the when I reach the top the stench just makes me want to kill but murder is so venal, too easy and bitter a pill. Bitter, and better that it were a sedative donít wash away filth, for it is enough Nothing simple is ever easy and nothing free is ever cheap Because Stone Cold said so But itís all in the head of the lunatic And whatever he said was true It seemed to me I lived my life like a candle in the wind Send me Victories, Happy and Glorious. God Save the Queen Thanks for the bread, Thanks for the meat. Now everyone shut the fuck up and letís eat! Feeling So Great at hours of late making up things is so Fucking Great (Again) Am I making up things? It must be late. But no, it is yet early- early in life Life which stinks like cheeses Cheese to please and seize your degrees MEOW And without trying, effortlessly he became his own desire where the demons live and the banshees play Open up your eyes you Fucking Fuck realize ignorance runs amuck And then the robot turned out to have the brain of a lamp made of popsicle sticks and playing cards, which in fact was sexy as hell The light manifest extreme rays of passion and she portrays them as well As well as a beer helps a hangover grinning, flocking instinct she said "Hey man- I really need a drink," Please Franco save yourself the boudoir Apple Jack Hammer Sprouting pink toilet paper I pour a healthy dose of ether on it and stick it up my nose. I havenít written neat handwriting since the 2nd grade. And all the same it comes from nowhere at all, like, like... With the corporate pirate fast on your heels i can no longer read. I forgot. The hand is the scariest thing I see! Full of ennui as we soar toward the inequities of life What you left behind is more mellow than wine beneath the planet of the apes Blue as life, flow towards your own life, backwards, I remember the first time do you remember a worse time? Then I doused it in Cum Beotch The vortex was too strong for the man on the mission Birds, Geese- Oh so pretty Hair Dye, Eye Sty, Peach Pie Why did they crash my chicken fry Drugs man where do they go FOAD Pippi Longstocking Ate an apple pie Tiger Tiger burning bright in the fire of the night The costumes looked great and the girls were fine If the donít love you going out, theyíll love ya goin in Stay as long as possible In the magic theater I like to jerk off A lot Like a wolf in sheeps clothing Pangolins penguins and elephant shrews All need a new summons package To keep my kidneys in. Jennifer is soooooo hot Pieces of orange cut slices of razor-love and razors that shave my face at that barber shop on astor place.