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