Modern poetry collection by contemporary Cleveland poet Steven B. Smith
Smith - contemporary poet

Empirical Dada Greatest Hiss - version 3.0
Peter Ball - music, engineering, recording / Steven B. Smith - lyrics, vocals
23 May 2005 - version 3.0

empirical dada - greatest hiss - version 3.0

01 - knock knock - :06
02 - rafter rats - 7:28
03 - i'm for falling - 6:40
04 - yeast - 4:27
05 - bye buy - 7:29
06 - nipple f/x - 4:03
07 - bewail - 8:26
08 - doing time - 6:15
09 - social spore - 2:59
10 - washing machine - 11:33
11 - truth - 6:17
12 - by bye buy - 4:05

recorded jan 2004 - may 2005 Apartment One studios
Peter Ball - music, recording
Steven B. Smith - lyrics, vocals

burn a copy - pass it on

Pete meet

knock knock = no poem

knock knock

knock knock
knnoocck knnoocck
knock knock knock knock knock

end    top    poetry    agent of chaos

rafter rats = 2 poems: 21st Century Schizoid Man & T.V.O.D.

21st Century Schizoid Man

I've got certified rats in my rafters
Of legally voided mind waste
So excuse please these cancerous laughters
This spewing of petrified paste
Vague seekings through demented hereafters
I can't find my mind's been misplaced

Electron wails mournful my nay brain
Err trails its zinc aftertaste
This drivel due mad jolting sane pain
Embraces thy sameness posthaste
Dying I burp up my madness again
I can't find my mind's been misplaced

of when of where of what am i o god of whom of why
for seeketh then thou me thou see the be that thou belie


The forgotten blindfold
Acts on obsession
Rides crooked trail
Sweet smells success
Hides blood money
Warriors pit

Lies true speed colors night
Graphics violence

end    top    poetry    agent of chaos

Falling = 2 poems: I'm For Falling & They

I'm For Falling

Whining want weeps
Its winning way
From fool tool TV
Via too much tit
And botoxed brain
Showing shallow twits
In xeroxed pain
Damn little give
Whole lotta take
Turning from sun
To burning lake

I'm for falling
Falling down
Falling through air
Calling cloud
Free from err
Free from want
From wanting more
Free of lust
Of money whore
Free to trust
The ever more


Wing word round
In classic clown
Till dry discourse
Rues rule
Courts gesture
Of course
Lambs lame lions
And liars lie down
In one main line
Of fool

end    top    poetry    agent of chaos

Yeast = 1 poem: Sold American

Sold American

We're born in blood, raised in flesh
In Ragnarok n roll Armageddon
So let's go let's go let's go go Sell American
For the red, white, black and blue

Schrodinger's cat is dead, perhaps
And we but lie, lie dreaming
This tit for tat means this this ain't that
No matter what the ragweeds weaving

My Little Bo Peep's out eating her sheep
With Darwin doubtless her handle
Your Little Boy Blue's down sniffing glue
While cooking his spoon over candle

So drink a drink for all that hasn't happened
Bleed in need for the all that never will
3 cheers for the crippled, the misbegotten
All hail politicians finger in the till

end    top    poetry    agent of chaos

bye buy & social spore & by bye buy all = 1 poem Bye Buy

Bye Buy

The Man keeps knocking
Down my front door
Wants to sell me some
Sorta social spore
Says grits & groceries
Ain't enough
In the modern life
You need much more stuff
Made me want to crow
And flap my thing
Chase the hole
Outside wedding ring
So I cut my hair
De-furred my face
Gave the Man a chance
To show a better place
Where the air was clear
The water free
The fair folk there
Accepting me
But when they pursed my lips
To kiss an ugly place
The Man above unzipped below
I said sorry sir I gotta go
Get out of my face
You can keep your fairs
Your free fatted Fraus
The lure of your lair
Is lacking in now
I'll take the stair
It's quicker somehow
Cleaner too
Thanks to no you
You can unstab my back
Cuz you'll need your knife
Rat back to the pack
That leads your life
It's hit the road Jack
Be ass & back
Or tap taps brutal bell
I bye buy's black burden
I lay down your load
You ain't no at
For this gone cat
As for is
You're due your due
You can go to Hell
Be your own fondue
Drink dropping lake
Eat rising grape
Work rolling rock returning
Dirt burning

end    top    poetry    agent of chaos

Nipple F/X = 1 poem: Unknown Nipple

Unkown Nipple

Your nipple
Though we've yet to meet
Must surely seek to touch
My tongue's erectile tissue
Which seeks south to nether musk
Past inward looking navel
Which wise in eastern ways
When rocked in western rhythm
Knows what in maya may
Be only sleek illusion
Wonders reaped and sown
In peaks before the valley
Down treasure's traveled road
Where promise wraps forgiven
Its penis premised trap
Where truth in life is hidden
And minor deaths enact
Their furtive nightly burden
When joy it should be danced
And future fear forgiven
Like past purveyed by chance

Your eyes so solemn watching
Your lips promised pursuit
Your soul silent searching
Your heart no kindness fused
To form for wanting giving
To life its lift and shine
My love it spurts in wanting
Your flesh your spirit wine
Within your skin whenever
Blessings cross my brow
Profane in sacred wanting
Pure light enough for now
But o o unknown nipple
O mind of supple bliss
O soul unsullied, simple
On me bestow your kiss

end    top    poetry    agent of chaos

Bewail = 1 poem: Lamentation 5 - The Faithful Bewail

Lamentation 5 - The Faithful Bewail

As Eye and I went walking
And Eye and I were talking
Eye on I was watching
So shake your booty Buddha boy
Can't you spare a paradigm?

For me wanna marijuana
And me wanna do the dog
Bow the wow to shady lady
Leap and lap her fire log
Oh let me be your poodle boy

All aboard the Cardboard Express
Fresh in fresh sin and absolution
You can keep your Hallelujahs
Let me have my Loch Ness Jesus
Nam myoho renge kyo

Oh yes
It's all tits and toothpaste
A test tease totality
In textbook time

But I am not bothered by grace
Why watch the dead rework the living
Embalm our worst in overtime
Famous faces in golden places
Never look to me
To see Zen flesh-less-ness to be

Serpent servant sorrows sire
Brags big broths in briny bowls
But aftermath of meat belief
Is math to meat retreat

So Eye and I still walking
Though Eye and I not talking
But Eye on I am watching
So do your duty Buddha buddy
Cue this cat to paradigm

end    top    poetry    agent of chaos

Doing Time = 2 poems: Doing Time & Junkie Luv

Doing Time

A leaf alive
Another life
A lie let lie too long

Moon meat and Moses
Sucker song along
New lie highway
Old road alone

Need new lies
Old lie don't do
New supposes
For falling through

New excuses
And pretty parts
To hide abusive
Hollow hearts

Toys for boys
Swirls for girls
Swine to enjoy
Hurled pearls

For Babylon baby
Ain't another time
There ain't no maybe
It's this life's the crime

And I'm doing time

Junkie Luv

My eyes slither open, shut
In golum time my tongue
Rasps brown lizards
As I hiss my want of you
In careful solitude
O my preciousss

Sleep whispers soft leavings
On my lids my head nods
Nods my precious
These fingers numb in spite
The clash of needle
And the floor

end    top    poetry    agent of chaos

Washing Machine = 5 poems: Three Faces of Eve, USA Today,
Past Lies and Poverty, The Grasshopper's Tale & Fertile Lies

Three Faces of Eve

Moroi, Moroi
We meet where
The cuckoo does not sing
The dog does not bark
The sacred yew my flesh
The warming gone

Though hidden behind
Paths in the park
I in my city
Am amphetamine hot
And see
Clean Grecian face
In crumpled wrap
Of excrement
On flesh

None descending the stair
Dare call patrons
Matrons of questionable ease
Strip tease
Sand not withstanding
For each beach is the same
Same lame game
Where neither retribution
Nor love of institution
Dare descend dissembled daze
In this garbage of Eden

Bring back the snake

USA Today

Meat bags bound by fog and fury
Fear silence
Little horrors of swarming selves
God's flesh
But fallen water across the log

In service so sweaty warmth
Begotten in flesh and feast
Double cause
Crowing cock cracking dawn

Let doubt die
Mangled thread, legal mixture
Here be dragons
Slave state seared by vision
Degrees of silence

Past Lies and Poverty

Old wonders shrink, grow tame in time
The new fear hangs on
In quiet desperation, quit of desire
Like the shadow of a crowded
Culture in which each
Declare their innocence
In straight unfocused silence

It is there
The smell of unwashed
Dishes smug in the stench of our
Unclean shame
Like a salesman's underbreath
Fishy, stale
The deep teal, the tiled resonance

Of hungers on top of hungers

The Grasshopper's Tale

My life's dog food for do gooders
Hot dodgers dogging God's zone
Fur sure of itself
Per path and position
Point portion pursued

We who rise in heat from dream
Lick recollection loose
From cold fire's template
Futility's fog
We bleed in abandon
Dance dawn's dapple light

Fertile Lies

Small particles of truth lace love's lies

Peeping one-eyed cat's seafood stores
Mount used two love carnivore rides
Cast past sated loss

Self to self slip service schemes for the day
Emasculation Mama stiff with semen
Screams dreams porta piss shit machines
Message me to mine

Bile regenerative truth du jour:
loving spoonful's
pearl jam
to my hole

end    top    poetry    agent of chaos

truth = 1 poem Truth du Jour

Truth du Jour

Ciao chow boogie
Go down wail gone

Milk me mama 8 to the bar

Sassafras the fancies
She's my daddy-o mom

Milk me mama 8 to the bar

My moldy goldy oldie
My crazy maybe one

Milk me mama 8 to the bar

I'm cool cat copacetic
In absolute time

Milk me mama 8 to the bar

Jig forever together
In metaphoric fire

Milk me mama 8 to the bar

Sum symbol solution
Some simply a crime

Milk me mama 8 to the bar

Truth lie's silence
Truth but lie aloof

So milk me mama 8 to the bar

end    top    poetry    agent of chaos

W. Logan Fry (Director of The Digital Museum of Modern Art) is including 3 songs
by Peter Ball and me in an internet exhibition - and wondered how I met Peter.

Logan's putting on the web: Yeast, Nipple F/X, & Teddy Bear.
They can be heard online at D.M.O.M.A. Smith exhibition

Pete Meet

I met Peter in the Warfarin mines beneath the warehouse district in 1982.

I was serving time for bad taste. Peter was the entertainment director.
He needed a monkey to front a tin whistle band, and I applied - to no avail.

Peter's been urging me to record for 20 years. In January 2004, in my 2nd year of no employment benefits, I gave it a try - to my great dismay. Took 6 months for me to loosen up enough to start making a serious fool of myself, which is when the fun began.

I write the words. Take them to Peter, whose place is floor to ceiling keyboards, theremins, synthesizers, microphones - all run thru his computer for recording. He starts playing music, not knowing what I'm going to say, and I start saying, not knowing what he's going to play. When done, he burns me a cd of the day's jam.

For one time thru unrehearsed impromptu jams, we do okay.

Side benefits - my public poetry reading style has improved from boring to enthusiastic, and I've written 10 times more poems than before to feed the music machine.

Peter Ball's

lyrics to empirical dada greatest hiss version 2.0


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