Parcel – or Stand Aside

spoken word poetry
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Spoken Word


Don’t relax
But also don’t remember
That any time we can
Break into a dance requiring us
To base all and any fantasies
On that liquid part of us
That part which fills up
A version feeding
Saints perched up on stained
Glass windows
Dance represents the parts of
Flesh we can’t touch because
The motion,
If attempted
Makes its container spill
Who then can we call upon
To witness our transcendence
In the sun
From moist
to mist
To flesh again?


more by LORD BISON

check out: That Golden Woman – A Spoken Word Album by Lord Bison

visit: Lord Bison’s Blog

photograph by Katleen Vanacker


Image Curve’s Manifesto

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Lord Bison

Jazz-soaked spirit running circles around despair...or something like that. Really. Lover of words, lover of being in worlds New Yorker, artist, Virgo besieged by airhead tendencies akin to Libra moves. Bronx is home base. Began an obsession with writing at seven and twenty-odd years hence, still at it. Enjoy/love/hate/be bored/appreciate to your heart's content. Or something like that.

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