BURNING HOUSE PRESS

Techno concertos
Hillbilly rave
Ardent pianism
Televisual monikers
We wait for no one
Red piano
White piano
Richter’s later years
Travelling Siberia
With Chopin etudes
With Prokofiev sonatas
John Cage, Nam June Paik
The Soho loft scene
Hip Hop on 2nd Street
ABCD Alphabet City
Rap jump blues Chattanooga
Choo-choo. I’ve got
Stars in my Eyes
For You. Northern Soul
Western Swing. Get on
UP. I’m a Sex Machine
Man Machine Machine
Machine Machine,
Machine. Computers
And footwork, Kraftwerk
And James Brown. Both
Got original Sound. Sitting by
The Dock of the Bay
I’ll Meet you in Carolina,
Adelaide Adelaide
I want you tonite
Echoes on streetcars
Trains, trams, busses
Automobile routes
Automobile runs on
Speed and gasoline
From Berlin to
Iggy Pop Pop
Pop Goes the Weasel
I gotta get out of
This place if its
The last thing i
Ever do. Doo-wop
Corner. On the
Corner. Miles Davis.
John Coltrane. Earl
Hines. Papa Wemba.
Let’s dance on a
Can. Can-can in
Margaritaville
Cold rooms echoes
Swoosh of wind
White noise sound
Of meditation in
Hollows of houses
Waiting for John
Cooper Clarke to
Arrive from Chickentown
With Nina Simone.
With the Duke
And the Count
Frank and Bing and
Ella Fitzgerald sings
In my Solitude
Billy Strayhorn
Tune on solo piano
On white piano
On black and white keys
On Top of old Smokey
And all that Jazz.
Anthony Braxton’s lullaby
The Mudd Club Skronk
Guitars and Horns
Horns of Plenty
Rolling seas rolling
Down to New Orleans
Hamiet Bluiett’s
Clarinet family sings
Fats Domino’s
Mardi Gras ballads
The yellow moon
The yellow moon
Shines down in my room
With Pete Seeger tunes
And Billy Bragg union
Covers Guthrie’s
From sea to shining
From this land to
This land from anthem
To metal symphony
Broken back beats
And choral rhythms
Kabuki No Song
Move across a melodious
Stage bare of curtains
And gestures of
Ceremony in that
Sound in that sound
That sound. That’s
What I want in that
Sound – she said,
Singing like the wind,
Almost singing like
Cecil Taylor in East Berlin
During druid piano
shaman ceremony
Burning Man
In the heat
Of the Night
Bob Dylan sings
With Leonard
come to me
to this garden
in the tower
of song. Identity
and power grid
tattoos. Black and
red in the pulse
of my forearm.
Like all the other
Lounge lizards
At the tip of the night
Singing in the morning
Waiting for the sunrise
Dancing in the moonlight
Walking with my Baby
Lying in the night sky
Waiting for the man
Running Undercover
Brahms and Howling
Lightning Tornado
On the flat lands
We head for shelter
Waiting for the storm
Riders on the Storm
To clear our heads
To dress up the indenture
For carnival on the road
Play stickman in topsy-
Turvy carnivalesque
If only for one day
Metal feedback noise
Loops disintegrating tapes
Of pure sound and bio-
Melodious fertility
Open chords palms of
My hands one note
And then another note
 

Robert Frederic Kenter is a poet and visual artist. His poems and art have been published & exhibited North America & elsewhere. Journal presence includes cough, dandelion, new quarterly, ARC, Going Down Swinging (Australia), Fascist Panties and many other. He is author of chapbook Office Crime. He currently lives in Toronto & can be found on Twitter at @frede_kenter.