the muse apprentice guild
--expanding the canon into the 21st century




FOUR WORKS
BY DERRICK STUART

LATE NIGHT OHIO (AM RADIO ZEN)

Capsules of life
being fed to you,
bask in the translucent glow
of sublime experiences, shine
to blind the dank trials that
reside deep within yourself.
Suicidal mutterings are lull'd
into epiphany with the psychedelic
feel of pure white noise &
a clear-night jazz-station in
a place you've never been, give
you a taste of esoteric immortality.

The wind rustles thro' the
younger Hare Krishna trees &
compliment the liberal vibration
of cool soul music; the gasoline
skies are chill'd to neglected
beauty that sits o'erhead the horizon
of strange mosquitoes and shatter'd
American dreams.

An inaudible signal floats to you
like a radiation angel delivering
news of the Second Coming to the
lonely James River stoners below &
plants the fertile seeds for aspirations
of East Village grandeur; Velvet Underground
hopes and wars
fought by swarms of pacifists,
urging the smooth, glossy yuppies
from the vast, desolate insignificance
of their chains & well-kept appliances
and drop them off in the terrarium
of the entire universe.
Only then to discover
love as sex as art,
and miracle decadence
as American satori.

================

DOGS CONTROL THE NIGHT

'Cross the death-room's sprawl
Nervous-breakdown shag carpet, Movie's on
but who knows?
Faint savage howl, unknown unseen
echo out new suburban mythologies
Pure brutal language, messages soaking
In the night's upset currents
Dogs control the night: cry against
the fenced Earth.
Communication defines. This much I know.
Decry the borders- happily unaware caged
still in aluminum-siding. It's chilly, y'know.
Naked careless but tactful are they
demonstrating beyond the stars
  - are their gods really on sale today?
     Clearance. Blue-light special. I dunno.
     Wonder what they're sayin'.
    Messages massage the rain, now.
      They celebrate ignorant
        of day's definition-it's
          all pride, natural
             there, IT
  Dogs control the night. Lucky! Huh?
    dyin' Sunday seeks it harlot
     callin' on the dogs- you say
        "who cares?".
           amoral.
            right.

================

DOUBLE-THEFT IN MINTS & QUASI-SEX

'Twas an immaculate dying-summer eve
clear as an existentialist rainbow, yr face
was there- impassion'd, illuminated under the
Neon mental menu. Me, dropped off, 'round 7
in the literal yab yum: W/ sexy-skate,
lonely-arrogant-smoker, almost & total lovers;
distant-cousin-maybe? who
Knows what was on the Screen?
apt portrayal of Ourselves then?
off into whatever, harassment, coffeehouse
Pay-phone=Home; well-deserved rest (INTERMISSION).
just The Tao, I suppose &
plans for the bright $5 equinox.

================

THE MOVIES

The hall of mirrors was
sparse, vast- lifeless
the artificial life,
had ended. Tonight was
the night as we
scrambled through those
ascending aisles,
all by ourselves.
The road to home
hadn't yet been built,
in that corridor-running
and laughing.
A cameraman peer'd
down upon us,
like a vulture seeks
and stalks death
from the heavens,
death which was smiling, narcissus-like
at itself in shades
of commercials & colors!
After an escape to the tiles,
a venture through those shining files
we retire from lights.