
               F U C K E D  U P  C O L L E G E  K I D S
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                - t h e  p o e t r y  v e n t u r e -
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        "A poet once said, "The whole universe is in a glass of
        wine."  We will probably never know in what sense he meant
        that, for poets do not write to be understood.  But it is
        true that if we look at a glass of wine closely enough we
        see the entire universe.  There are the things of physics:
        the twisting liquid which evaporates depending on the wind
        and weather, the reflections in the glass, and our imagination
        adds the atoms.  The glass is a distillation of the earth's
        rocks, and in its composition we see the secrets of the
        universe's age, and the evolution of stars.  What strange
        array of chemicals are in the wine?  How did they come to be?
        There are the ferments, the enzymes, the substrates, and the
        products.  There in wine is found the great generalization:
        all life is fermentation.  Nobody can discover the chemistry
        of wine without discovering, as did Louis Pasteur, the cause
        of much disease. How vivid is the claret, pressing its
        existence into the consciousness that watches it!  If our
        small minds, for some convenience, divide this glass of wine,
        this universe, into parts -- physics, biology, geology, 
        astronomy, psychology, and so on -- remember that nature does
        not know it!  So let us put it all back together, not
        forgetting ultimately what it is for.  Let it give us one more
        final pleasure: drink it and forget it all!"

        - Richard P. Feynman, The Feynman Lectures on Physics, v. 1, p. 3-10

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                       vegas pink polishing my soul
        
                      as i sniff my fuming fingertips
                     i thirst for grappa to wipe away
                            the tears within me
                               thinning paint
                             crying pink on keys
                              stroking my ego
                       with the rapidness of clicks
                        squelched shortly after by
                                     "
                             i can type faster
                                two finger
                                fat finger
                                    "
                         nothing i do seems right
                      yet for wrong i do not qualify
                            wronged by myself
                          more than anyone else
                       for giving them that power
                               to judge me
                                   for
                    believing and weeping and wishing
                              that some day
                                 some day
                                   ...
                        affirmation came without me

                                   yt
                                 040198



        Rain

        Rain
        cold and wet soaking
        through layers of material 
        reaching your inner core
        
        Rain
        Hot and humid filling
        your mind with lustful thoughts
        
        Rain
        pouring straight from the heavens
        cleansing your soul
        
        Rain
        Pour, overpower me with
        your sweet liquid
        drench me with wetness
        let me feel you against 
        my raw naked skin
        
        Bluerose
        
        
        
        UNDERGROUND POTENTIAL
        
        child cries. like rain
        on ripe peaches. other
        crops failed this year.
        mother sleeps. father
        tries to sow pain. teachers
        cannot explain his fear.
        
        some said better. some
        never knew. maybe it's
        dying within his head.
        silent talk. keeping
        pace with ghosts. one more
        chance to beat them dead.
        
        bloody canvas. cross
        stitching anger. fumbling
        with pieces in his fingers.
        lengthy memories. pruning
        with dull shears. settling
        into roots where death lingers.
        
        
        Indiana Poet    March 23, 1998
        
        
        
        night life
        
        its three twenty
        the early hours of this early morn
        and not a light from the hidden sun
        
        sleep ive had plenty
        yet still exhausted and forlorn
        i will not sleep until this night is done
        
        sacrificing effectiveness for a life in the dark
        sleeping through the active day
        waking with the moon
        
        sleep has deserted me tonight
        and now i silently lament
        that in peaceful dreams
        this loath'd night was spent
        
        .illusionary.           1 may 1998
        
        
        
        
        A sexy perfume perhaps a clue,
                        for intimate acts secluded softly,
                        classic climax clinching confession,
                        you exile loneliness to mercenary islands,
                        evoking rituals new and exciting,
                        esoteric essence evening crescent,
                        you light my fire cozy calls,
                        you escort my shyness orphaned hunger,
                        to open passion free from teasing,
                        we travel through doors allured erotic,
                        through luxuriant motions and taboo potions,
                        we collide fantasy driven magic,
                        to evolve a connection pleasing pure,
                        your me I'm you we are so sure!
        


        Pulse of Bass

        Pulses race forth as the loose beats increase
        No need for light, and all is seen.
        Darkness wraps around, a comforting blanket.
        Sparkles shine off and on, on and off ...
        
        Racing to the beat, as the heat rises.
        Clammer reaches out and is damned.
        Twilights eye shines vibrantly,
         the devils no where to be found.
        
        White reflects the light bounce, bounce
        Black soaks it all in, as if a drain emptying
        Pour down the food of music --
                increase the pulses race.
        
        Light strobe back and forth,
         a rainbow of colors are shown all around.
        Pulse going fast, base intact
         the music stops, and you fall flat.
        
        -Kamira                 March 20, 1998
        
        
        
        enter, stage (life) left.
        
        Angels with wings made of smoke and mirrors.
        False experts in a new technology world.
        Almost leaders taking us into uncertainty
        
        Ability to sync, reach out, find your own
        Lashing out in confused direction
        Problems of old manifest in new medium
        
        False deity, religious cries, throwback
        Holy war played out in statistics and debate
        New god's decree lost to deaf ears
        
        Money and power the old driving force
        our sick puppeteer defining societal norm
        once good people swayed by its charm
        
        growing and learning, life's lessons on television
        binding morals or past ethics lost in youth
        chivalry an outcast, replaced by ignorant evil
        
        child protege, look beyond the force feed
        challenge the world or be ripped off
        regardless, you will inherit this plague
        
        today a victim, tomorrow responsible
        your future a curse

        mea_culpa


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        E D I T O R S:   jericho@dim.com   &   demonika@dim.com
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        (c) Copyright. All poems copyright by original author.     
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        F O U N D E D:                         October 30, 1997
