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...and they lived happily ever after. Smith & Lady: poets, artists, photographers & adventurers.
Our relationship was forged to the soundtrack of Yoko Ono's magic,
frenetic, love-laden song, "Walking On Thin Ice." ( play song )

3 flute lifeform


Bree Zlee Zlee, who is living in an ex-brothel in Paradise, Kentucky, featured my creative existence in her EFFITS UNDY underground blog yesterday >

Status Report 184

Sitting in comfort of silence
sipping first sip of black coffee
honoring unrisen sun
which will not be seen
through raingray overwarm winter

Awaiting 5-hole handmade red cedar
pentatonic Native American flute in D
to arrive to sing new song with old notes

It is here

Find my corner
sit in shadow
practice broken tune

Reset tomorrow sun

– Smith, 2.25.2016

The middle flute arrived today. I can noodle about on the small pocket flute but ain’t got no shake. Lady gave it to me last birthday. The long flute on top is a bass, Lady gave it to me for Christmas, but my arthritic hands can’t handle the hand spacing so I’m waiting for warmer weather to loosen them up to try again. The middle flute is tuned to D and arrived this morning for my birthday in a couple weeks when I turn 70. I can already do better on it in less than an hour than the other two.

I’m a 3-flute piperman . . . now, where’s the rats?

Going to have an MRI today. Doc says my nerves are strung too tightly down both sides my body, wants to check my neck. Told him if he was putting me in the MRI again, he was going to give me something to make me feel less claustrophobic. So he prescribed one Lorazepam pill which I’ll pop an hour before walking nine blocks to the hospital on my broken knee.

Here’s the poem from my first MRI.

Industrial Symphony 35

They wedge me in the MRI
surgical shoulder ache in pain
start to roll me into machine as I inquire
“How long will this take?”
“Thirty-five minutes.”
My mind cramps,
don’t like being trapped,
don’t like this,
know the panic button in my hand
and then Industrial Symphony 35 starts
bleep blap boop
duck duck duck duck duck
baptist baptist baptist baptist
whirl screech scrack scream
groan jerk jerk jerk growl
whappa whappa whip whop
blurp bloop bleep
chick chick click click chick chick crik
ruha ruha rumble rumble row
shudder shake shake shiver
herk quirk murk blurt
scrape jerk jerk jerk scoop
aooooga aooooga
dive dive dive
start again different order
different sounds
worthy of recording for hard music market
loud loud loud
I trap my trap fear
breath slow, deep
say Buddhist chant
start counting one thousand one
roam levels of hell
until “You doing ok?”
“How long?”
“Ten minutes more.”
rise through purgatory
“Three minutes. You’ve been very good.”
one thousand one one thousand two
hit one thousand one hundred fifty
“Done, be right in.”
Never again.
But thanks for the symphony
if not the memory,
and may you never ever hear it.


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