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These poems were just sent to me by Rob Nelson, one of Woody's many friends at Southern.  He recently found them in a folder in his garage.  Woody gave them to him in 1984.  In typing them Rob tried to keep the formatting as they appeared on the page.  Enjoy, they are true Wood.


in park by bench no pigeons
fog lady picked
    a weed, herself
        city never mist
it don't see brown, only grey

Rock is Human
Rock eats
     like Karen Carpenter
Rock dances
     like FDR
Rock kills
     like Ghandi

verses in limbo
the sky cracks open, the earth falls in
to sweat's illegal, to breathe's a sin
don't matter how and it don't matter when
a tear of the heart is a tear that don't mend

Zen and
Chaos mechanix, this foreign goon
of street crusted knobs and link
teeth need steel floss maybe acid
x head into oh not metric enough
grease gurgled fuckit black makes
old cut sting    but
slow, relate     Law be
tortoise crossing under highway in drainpipe
or even rapids crashing structured as stone
slow,              look
as pliers applied make fix out of fix

Institution 1960
Sit on bench.
Look at bulb.
you pissed. Stay wet.
Shut up. Shut up.
Kneel on broomstick. Shut up.
Pay my rent or shut up.

almost haiku
free my cloth tattoo
from your songs of starch and stink
it make no hurt

he is still there
Reagan is feces
Mondale is hunger
Light is a loving coat hanger across the back
and darkness is peace
to the retard in the closet

West Rock October
painted pure pyromania
red rocks ripped
far from forest flaming
Autumn burns on the mountain

I commune with dead beasts at roadside (fake poem)
Hi there, squishy squirrel, donked deer, bursted bird.
Poor yucky thing you're
      target practice for Big Tom's retreads
      an obstacle for Andre's whitewalls
      and a gourment lunch for bugs.
Poor lucky thing you're
      out in the fresh air,
      getting eaten in full public view,
      and never going to have toget up when the alarm

      goes off.
Feel proud. You're a familiar seasonal motif.

Let's all sing about library fun!
Joe clawed at the wall of red and green books
Swearing famine and plague on the system
Not caring at all 'boutthe old lady's looks
He mumbled how she could digest 'em

Behold 61 D HF REF. L
And HD 48.1 C3
And after a fascinating sidetrip to hell

He sat down across from a much-pimpled reject
A short prayer to God and he opened his book
A most mundane text on a most mundane subject
His brain took to wandering the very first look

On page twenty three he saw a Labatt's
Twenty four had an ice cold Budweiser
Twenty five alas he sat there aghast
to visions of screaming advisor

A worm he found seated on page twenty six
A big one that couldn't be mushed
He skewered it with some eraseable Bics
And from it vile substances gushed

Twenty six also held deep under its ink
reminiscence of shows on the cable
and thinking how tough proper thoughts are to think
Joe fondled the gum under table

He googled at chickies
Made faces at geeks
His nose he made pickies
He took several leaks

Twenty six loomed evil and yucky
Joe's brain was sickly and tired
Midst thoughts of his old rubber ducky
Our man got profoundly inspired

He swooshed himself up, though Daddy'd be bummed
And hitchhiked all cross the nation
With a drip on his pants he'd happily succumbed
to the evils of procrasterbation


Hope these add some coolness to your site. Woody
was a positive guy with a lot to teach us. He didn't
die in vain.