Night Hawke@the-hold.com/may 2000

Night Hawke
     It's been said Hawke is a Poet Sprite caught in the corporate cracks by his most eloquent and respected friend. Others have merely said he's fucked up and unhappy.
     Having grown up in the soybean fields of West Tennessee he's now a nearly 40ish biker poet living around Chicagoland somewhere.
     Hawke finally admited he qualifies as a poet due to his bi-polaresque mood swings but refuses to take medication for it. After all, why fuck up the one thing he has going for him?
     As a musician, photographer, digital artist, writer, and fitness nut he maintains his humility is what makes him great. His creative endeavors are aimed at overthrowing the western culture he has proclaimed dead and injecting passion back into the universe.
     Though many find it odd that a counterculture rebel is dedicated to helping people get fit he points out, "In a culture where over 50% of the adult population is obese (that's 97million Amerikans) getting away from the TV remote is radical!. And if people get fit they might actually have some real sex sometime--what a concept."
     On the subject of his identity he says;
     "-- Now what's the point of being underground if you're not going incognito??? Sheesh people give me a break. And no -- I'm not in the witness protection program. I'm not even in Amway"
     The real story of how he earned his moniker can be found at his site in the poem titled "Hank Killed the Devil in the Harland Bottom Bog / Tennessee collection.

Night Hawke

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Between Dreams
I looked up at Jupiter
Damn spot out
there looking down
on me like some
giant red cycloptic eye
hasn't changed one bit
since dreaming of
Star Trekking and
Captain Kirk swashing
Un-buckled to Venusian
Goddesses Y2K flying cars
and moon colonies

Orwell's year come and gone
with little fanfare
as the walls came
tumbling down around
Gorbechev's damn spot

Never had a hummer
in my office talking to
foreign heads
telephoned spotting up
navy blue dresses

Some kinda mid-life crisis
people call it when you're
spotting the big four
Oh…act like I've lost my
mind or something but
if you ask me I was crazy
all those years before
and it's Sanity that
makes people really uncomfortable
cause they don't want to
hear that they're chasing
their own tails and
might as well be trying
to varnish Jupiter
by Jupiter

Excuse me if I'm between
dreams right now
but I don't think
I'm going back to sleep

I think I've spotted something
better

Lexiholic
I slept into the Saturday
Morning laze
Hungover from
Nintey-eight proof
Lexis drunk
Straight from the quatrain

Vocabulary so potent
It leaves me
Heady
To see your voice
Traversing
The reserve between us

Lexis lectrons
Sprawling through
The molecular lattice works
Of my skin
From utterances of

Oh

That echo in nostalgic synapse
Sleeping in the Saturday
Laze

No twelve
Steps to therapy for this
Craving

Parched

Give me a shot
Straight up

I am Rebel
And I'm a lexiholic

Germination
Germs

I need germs

I need microbes
Transmitted
With violent viscosity
From flesh to flesh

I want
Flesh eating
Pathogenic human
Germs

This antiseptic
Isopropyl listerine cyberscape
Has left me
Sterile

I need germs
I need germination

Infect me

Zen Rip-Tide Rush
A river bed of Zen
I plunge Keen to drink
Fervently of
Fever
Flack jacket flapping
Amid shredding barrages
Of flicking and huffing
Crossfire
I am wanton
To cum to
The Zen Maiden
The river Queen
To quench this fad

This chub

Of luck
To drink this
Fire of Zen

My zenith
I am bum
To the beck of her bid
I plunge to
Her bed
To drink
A fickle lick
Bled wet to the Zen Chef

Dumb fumbled
To the meld of her
flow Mad
To the dam

Buck me
Zen Rip Tide
Rush

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Listen to Hawke live with Shutup and Kiss Me at the spoken ho!d