By Rex Butters
there was no stage at SPONTOS
only performers one and all
noisy travelers milled about
that inter-dimensional way station
hung on 3 white walls
eye enlightening art
images blazing with the sounds
rebounding around open ears
and no walls at all
as overflow revelers flooded
out the brick street store front entry
inside forbidden image cinema
and poetry both golden and tin
a fiery light in a blackening
world of numbness
there was no stage at SPONTOS
just thick damp salty night air
roomfuls of people
hot free savory food
overloaded outlets
confusing congregation of chords
dark dada back room bacchanals
stinky skunky spicy
green goods going up
in sacred smoke
he evil elfin churlishly cherubic
his foot in the door
holding The Lady’s portal open
for gypsy artist shaman fools
barefoot sandy dancing
Her Solstice celebrations
beat crazed saints grateful
to survive another cycle
there was no stage at SPONTOS
just hyper inspired multi-level conversation
and celestial sound
the voice of a community
splashed in paint/sung on drums
guitars, saxes, harmonicas
music quakes shake off
greed’s grip on Venice
if only for the night
the dream of free and open art
visible from space as a beating heart
a Temporary Autonomous Zone of our own
experimental theatre and community activism
on the still smoldering ashes of the Venice West
holy ground art temple
joyful party pit
lucky for us
we were there