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the voice comes back...it's sensed in the rythym which fills the body with a magic...to sing the blues you must live them...I have been a refuge in the American night....writing strange hieroglphyics on the void's chalkboard...I saw the lies goes down over the last thirty years...I didn't quite know how it was going down but intuitively as a poet I sensed it...when the details came out, I said, aha, that's how they did it...the virus of public relations has infected every being of our consciousness...we are madison avenue junkies, power junkies, sex junkies, our shit flapping in the winde..but now the words and the melodies fill my soul and I let the words out in a torrent of expression...the grey hair atop of my head and the scars over my body testify the rough going I have had at times...like standing hours as a security guard in frozen parking lots sniffing drain pipes, or minimum wage pay at as delivery office blow boy, or mind deadening data entry work down in the bowels of the corporate scum, or the mind blowing numbing isolated sensation of being ignored desexed maimed in the american miasma and still the expression comes on strong my only friend to the end,tap, tap, tap the words they explode mushrooming in ezra pound symphonies...

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it was another day in the void for d....