artistic organization

integrates

disintegrates

within its spaced out walls

reeking of 70s avant-garde dada performances

first there's Friedman announcing to the disembodied room:

“it needs to be noisy at random intervals!”

while silent Apache coyote skin tom-toms

rest stranded on platformed stage

then Peter tries talking in specifics:

“I am…” “She is…” “We can’t possibly…”

and Carmen, a seductive phantom,

circulates among the circus cast

dressed in Lost Generation costumes

Ting! Ting! somewhere Tingsha Cymbals ring: 

 Michael: “come on, guys, let’s do the play,

here’s a white candle

a harmonious glow has come”

“everyone create distractions!

distractions!,” this time darling Shani’s  mezzo soprano

so it begins:

characters posturing agamous bodies,

women dangling inside red capes

wailing on harmonicas,

audience members and drop out actors perched on ladders

as lights dim, darken,

followed by a collective scream!

Bisbee's Zen theater neither begins nor ends,

grit and vivacity focused on what’s happening with onlookers,

all else, the performers for instance:

external pillowfight!

recycled famished energy!

then Betsy: “ready? set?

okay, everyone: jump the fence!”

“oh my”, I mumble, “are we the only muddy road in town?”

Philadelphia Hotel, OK St., Bisbee

Summer, 1975