April Ventura

"I'm standing there watching the parade/feeling combination of sleepy john estes. jayne mansfield. humphrey bogart/mortimer snurd. murph the surf and so forth/erotic hitchhiker wearing japanese blanket. gets my attention by asking didn't he see me at this hootenanny down in puerto vallarta, mexico/i say no you must be mistaken. i happen to be one of the Supremes/then he rips off his blanket an suddenly becomes a middle-aged druggist. up for district attorney. He starts screaming at me you're the one. you're the one that's been causing all them riots over in vietnam. immediately turns t a bunch of people an says if elected, he'll have me electrocuted publicly on the next fourth of july. i look around an all these people he's talking to are carrying blowtorches/needless t say, i split fast go back t the nice quiet country. am standing there writing WHAAAT? on my favorite wall when who should pass by in a jet plane but my recording engineer "i'm here t pick up you and your latest works of art. do you need any help with anything?" my songs're written with the kettledrum in mind/a touch of any anxious color. unmentionable. obvious. an people perhaps like a soft brazilian singer... i have given up at making any attempt at perfection/ the fact that the white house is filled with leaders that've never been t the apollo theater amazes me. why allen ginsberg was not chosen t read poetry at the inauguration boggles my mind/ if someone thinks norman mailer is more important than hank williams, that's fine. i have no arguments an i never drink milk. i would rather model harmonica holders than discuss aztec anthropology/ english literature. or history of the united nations. i accept chaos. i am not sure whether it accepts me. i know there're some people terrified of the bomb. but there are other people terrified t be seen carrying a modern screen magazine. experience teaches that silence terrifies people the most... i am convinced that all souls have some superior t deal with/ like the school system, an invisible circle of which no one can think without consulting someone/ in the face of this, responsibility/ security. success mean absolutely nothing... i would not want t be bach. mozart. tolstoy. joe hill. gertrude stein or james dean/ they are all dead. the Great books've been written. the Great sayings have all been said/ I am about t sketch You a picture of what goes on around here sometimes. tho i don't understand too well myself what's really happening. i do know that we're all gonna die someday an that no death has ever stopped the world. my poems are written in a rhythm of unpoetic distortion/ divided by pierced ears. false eyelashes/ subtracted by people constantly torturing each other. with a melodic purring line of descriptive hollowness-seen at times thru dark sunglasses an other forms of psychic explosion. a song is anything that can walk by itself/ i am called a singwriter. a poem is a naked person... some people say that i am a poet. and so i answer my recording engineer " yes. well i could use some help in getting this wall in the plane""-Bob Dylan (Bringing It All Back Home)