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I've been a musician only slightly longer than I have been a poet. Had to learn words and to speak and to read before the ideas could tumble onto the page. But when they did begin to tumble there was no other singular way to cut through the bullshit of the mind and create a moving piece of art.

The voice. Sound. It is as primal as hitting something with your hand or a stick to make music. The rhythms that the voice can evoke are magical. The ideas and imagery that stringing a line of words can produce is beauty. Poetry is raw. Powerful. And as I had put in my first book of poems, Spoken Word, the best life I could live is that of being a poet...it is also the worst life I could live.

Words cut. Vision to see the poetic is not always a blessing.


Poem by Stavros (aka Poet 168)

Fight. Fuck. Start a religion.
We’re all going to die.
In a hundreds it won’t matter anyway.

New bastards w/ new faces
clinging to the same old cave skin
will rape consciousness all over again.

Fight. Fuck. Start a religion.
Tell yourself; sell your Self
make a Hollywood movie
billboard the internet with MySpace (& Facebook) Pornography
Record an album of gums chewing linen.

What difference does it make?
all this white noise is a temple of god light and dog shit.

Fight. Fuck. Start a religion.
Pray to the divine to save your ass,
‘cause you won’t.

Fight. Fuck. Start a religion.
Get a tax break to break your back
You slaves. You masters.
You are the destruction at the end of your day
and the cheap beer in your refrigerator.

Smoke pot. Take pills.
Channel surf to heaven.

Masturbate on public buses.
Water the lawn. Erect small statues.
Paint the mailbox. Pay the bills.
Spread your disease in restaurants and theaters.

Dance naked in the darkness as well as the light.

We’re ugly and beautiful and dying every second
aching for someone to ignore us or love us or just shut the hell up.

Spread the disease, called cash.

Spread your legs. Butter your toast.
hang dirt in expensive picture frames;
snapshot memories of the vertically challenged.


You are a virus of love.

Fight. Fuck. Start a religion.
Plaster your face on milk-cartons to fill landfills
Kill insects with wanton attitude; cum in the mouths of all your lovers.

Whisper obscenities at the feet of mice.
Scream prayers at passing airplanes.
Never answer multiple choice questions again.
Erect a paragon of #2 pencils until God divides our tongues.

Stay Drunk.

Never wake.

Create great art for someone else to write about.
Give a stranger something to think.

Buy meat.


Spread the disease, called cash.

Didn’t you know...
I love you.


from The Spectacular Saga of Sweet Pea & Suzy Q, released January 1, 2021
Poem Written & Performed by Stavros
POET 168


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Cherokee Starlight Albuquerque, New Mexico

Music is! It's the language of my heart, my mind, and Spirit. It is the language of our Earth, the stars; it is life. Every vibration that moves within us, around us, and through us, can be heard, felt, and played. I play with the sounds of Folk, Rock, Punk, Funk, Hip Hop, Spoken Word, and Jazz to explore the journey of this odd flesh suitcase traveling down this organic ghetto. ... more

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