The Amsterdam Palace of Wisdom

the Amsterdam Palace of Wisdom
consists of
9425 oneway windows
4242 madhatters
6321 doors smashed in
post-orgasmic
fury
one for the Lady of Sorrow
45253 tiny Venices
90 islands
1500 bridges
& counting

sailors move in for the liquor
sailor move out for the flood
while the young blue Pole
remains
to die here
to leave
it

6500 guests at De Wallen daily
one per square meter
pleasure
rally

3463 tired sex workers
10 for one tired guest

6443643 cigarettes smoked
35232 bottles drained

lips encountered
arms explored

751251 inhabitants
242522 souls
the rest are skulls of fishermen
married to
cannabis
resolute
sea

to get lost here is really a pleasure
to get lost here is
finding
true wisdom
the Kilometre
Zero

&
slip into
cores of
growth
without any further
statistics
of notice

No dawn for years

this whole patronage of saints
I've followed
tiresome
gruesome
& weary
left nothing for me at
journey's
brickwalled
end

'cept grey as a dirtbag
Sheraton
towel
thrown onto her body
for good
taste
measure

felt like one of those tired
handicapped
heroes
who made so much efforts
unnoticed
who'll pass unnoticed
leave nothing behind
& fade out
& never get paid

the rain's been so long so stripped now:
shed it's skin faintly
to turn out a snake
consumin' its own
stainless steel
tail
while pokin' at men
damn
rusted
below

& so I'm so hopelessly stuck here
at last
w/ other writers chainsmokers
the telephone hooker's
Chinese whispers
& chess
& vodka
& sketchbooks
w/ views at the blank
walls of city
only
them hospitals, markets, morgues & prisons
your daily saccharine
dose

there's no dawn
for years
no faint heart companion
no one or nothing
to freely
hold on to:

it all takes too much sacrifice:
in the end
it's really not worth it

Jew's harp

my bones form
a Jew's harp
& it oms
& it shanties
the drunken boat
shanty
so steerless
that it pierces the ocean
black

and it mmmmmmmmmmmmms
your pedestrian
folk song
dances through the sleeping
village
windmill
sings out
the yellow
magic
disharmony

it's
the one you can learn
from these 2-dollar
songbooks
in green
w/ pictures of flowers
& no ISBN

&
if you ask -
that's my body

available
now!

wish I had them Jagger's lips
or again -
I wish I hadn't

the Jew's harp's
the favorite plaything
for all
generous
one-man
syndicates
of
poems

The street always follows the streetlight

the darkening lights of St. Antoin's cemetery swirl
line up
& crack
their
fogwhip
pockets

as the street always follows
the streetlight
& the needle always follows
the vein:
the vein
that wasn't there

I ate lunch at the padre's grave
lit up
the cemetery lamp
lit up
the havana
followed the lover's
silhouette
groan

threw the bastard
a sonnet
on his tombstone
the letters were gold
as his soul
was just
crow's clipped wing's
single
handclap

sang some German
nocturnes
w/ the fool moon piano
shuffled Nico
almost saw
her

& continued to brawl
until I could clearly see
swift pale atmosphere's
horses
arriving
& smell
them
very
near

while the padre at poker
w/ the silver-eyed
vampire
paid no attention
& continued
to lose

the St. Antoin's so lonely at dawn
as the dew forms
its puzzles
& the rare visitors
stare
at the stone
deaf
sirens
in hope for
comforting
answers

& then they find me
sprayed all over
the stone
breeding
sanctuary
snorin'
post
alcoholic
reviews

The ward

when she tortures the vertebral
butterfly
& the clinic gleams
electroshocks
& rubber
to evaporate the meeting
of egos
& the pervert laughter continues
it seems like the loss of all
control
like sleet in the middle of July
fornicatory
hail
& Jesus' heart wide open
while
glow-tubes moan the KC
blues
wine into water
brain into salad
the KC
blues
drives in
jackhammered
& the windows cannot be
opened
today

she's now out of all
recognition
to the world's
professional
ethos
locked behind the nerve gas
door
the healing
procession
of fact
in death's barrio
basin

& the clinic gleams still:
them tube-glows
come like
ample
sparkles
return as the nurse's
cool confinements

& she might just come
like
revenge's sweet
fire
when the next Irish life
comes
around

Handshake

live again...
cut out all indecent past lines
word forms
made into flesh
cut out all infected flesh
bleed all the black
blood
throw out the lungs
& the liver
retrace the unfortunate quotes
rewrite the very first scene
move back
to the soulless scenery
of birth
delete
all incongruous
hurt
conspire w/ the bright ghosts
of dawn
retire into the
dream night

live again...
in the wilderness' memory only
as one of the lucky
bastards
one of the fortunate
changelings

continue to grow
drop lines
make money
spend it on kasbah blue harlots
buy'em scarves & boots
dress'em for the proper
occasion
they pour so much sugar
into your eyes
that the salt in the stomach
don't hurt
anymore
& your heartache
becomes a spider

live again...
decide yourself & be again
whole

whole in the moments
when eyes meet

whole in the fragments
of a handshake

A bunch of floating anarchists

the Molotov brigade
has entered
my apartment
threshold burners
immobile
sleepless kids of inertia
sordid units
of black
restlessly packed
together
comin' to see their
favorite
writer

tried to perforate my couch
slay my cat
cram my trumpet
w/ shit
& feed the birdy
some acetone
write some
bright slogans
all across my bathroom
wall
shout their poems
out of my windows
piss on the streets
from balcony high
throw buckets of
rotten food
at passing policemen
sniff some glue
& fuck my newest
best
friend

vomit balloons
explore
the twilight:
magic pills start workin'

our boys sure need some sleep:
been up for 72 hours
smashing system
controls
burnin' some old Buddhist
writings

how can I convince them
that the system
sleeps only in their heads
while they're wide awake
on meth
hallucinating
self-induced
paranoias
coming to visit
their favorite
writer

so tired of these
so-called
visits...

(I'll never make it) to the Mardi Gras

"One loses many laughs by not laughing at oneself."
S.J. Duncan

I'll never make it to my Mardi Gras
just like Captain America...
some rednecks will shoot me
down
sooner
for the rednecks inherit the Earth...

then they'll bury me nameless
by the side of the road
& then perhaps erect
a temple
of the Indestructible
Spirit
above

but who'll start the pilgrimage?
who'll be the
one-eyed leader
of the three-eyed masses...
the yo-yo man of mystery...
the sunpierced
stoned jester...
who's gonna make it to their Mardi Gras...

who'll dance to the tune
he, a legend, declares...
& which silent flutes exactly will play...
which faces, which places,
which tunes
& which orchestras

you'll never make it to your Mardi Gras
too
you're a fine young gal, but
you're holdin' on to the ground
too tight
& you're never reach the L
S
of
D
orchards
in marbles
of Summer...

you're bound for the Autumn
revelation time:
you'll never hear
the true
Our Father, Who art in Heaven...
you'll never...
ah, that don't matter...

whoever made it to the Mardi Gras...
I'd like to shake your hand
buy you a shot of
booze
get drunk till the death bell
tolls
smoke the very last
joint
and bury myself beside you
so that we both can
remember
the journey

for on the roadside oak it is written:
silence is the key to every
goddamn
door
(signed "Buddha was here
before...")

A conversation w/ Jacques Brel's ghost

had a conversation w/ Brel's ghost last night
strangely
sun still up
& tripled
blurred as a warning
obsolete
shimmering
while the moon placed firmly
in Brel's fur coat
pocket

his long hair resounding
reverberating the cloudshield
exploring all there is
to explore
speakin' only in wind's
haunting
deep
vowels

He lit a cigarette. Came closer.
Flew by & sat right next to the chimney
relaxed on the
armchair

put one of Piaf's plates on
trapped in vinyl
death lark

he told me:
"boy, you quit these sentiments...
lullabyes & ballads are over
quit them black keys
quit all notation
listen to me & you're
settled..."
said I should visit
the "Blue Butterfly"
where ladies in black
leather
await the next
Dean
& pour out their mantras
all nite
all dirty

"I'll lend you my voice You sing them the stars
out w/ cancerous throat. You make
them all wet. They'll love the challenge.
They'll take it... they have no
choice but to give birth
to things...they have no choice but to
bear our sons..."

almost sucked the cigarette
dry
took hold of my verse
strangled it
whipped my eyes w/ it
life-juices spilled over
blood followed
shortly
"now this here you cannot sing'em...
now this here ain't metal&velvet...
this here ain't even a
real
song..."
licked'em off the floor...
cold concrete left
shinin'
I cold & amazed
& he howled

howled...
howled...
howled...

stopped abruptly
yet the music
continued
the room still
resonating &
hallowed

I realized he's signing
the Endless Death Hymn
in 23
tableaus

he smiled - he could tell by my eyes...

"Start up the bike, boy"
he gasped out w/ his
operational
lung
"You bring me my son back...
I will wait for you
in bar's filthy
fuckin'
mirror..."

Jug painters

vibrant angelic jug band blisters
succumbus raga immediately
commencing their
banjo
volares
epiphanies of meat bag
composants

licks my eyesocket
blind
plays insanity games w/
the painters next door
posing them
nude
in their armpit
boudoir
art deco
extraordinaire
cunts

& suddenly a slaughterhouse
evolves out of
every slightest
brush touch
exposedly hooked on
to
Dali

while in cafes outside
we sit barefooted
writing lines
on the bartendress'
Singapore-shaped
exalted
legs
sighin' how life is so
urgent...

The diver

Pistol insolent diver
you dive insolently further
into the kitchen sink's
want of
sharpness
phony as you are & phony as the sink
is
water keeps insolently
dissolving the ribs
penetrating
the groin candidate
sweepin' up the hair tents
insolently diving
furtherly uneven
while her dress is the only guide
last year's perfume
adole
scent's
picture
down at the kitchen sink's
kitchen
leadin' her favorite diver
down plate's dirt
cascade

True detective

true – I'm city's undemanding shade
vantage
point
vanishing
bridge jumper
thunderbolt
subconsciously
swaying swinger
gray
raincoatedly
impromptu

resonant to the midnite wind
mother night's
whispered
earfuck
sublime under minute
hand
payin' his dues in the swift
hole
jukejoints
chasin' the second hand
whatfor

true detective now lost
in his latest client's
outskirtal
grudge
labyrinth

taking pride in his ambulance
panic

becoming the observed
observer
is the strangest life
I've had
yet

why I find me
in all stranger's kindness'
gazes

true/not new:
in the end we all jump
& paper burns
at 232°C

Analysis for Calita

the human face's a gasping death spare
waiting room
fried-egg's galaxy center
blank canvas
for
further
connections
or the loss
of it all
spiked internally
down

the human face's a formless killer
revelator
midnight rain manifest
vulture
feast
the black puppets march
through the reddened eye
thickest
peripheral
maneuvers

the human's face a bottomless pit
resulting in a
death abyss
dive-in:
the haggard futureless
substance
flickers
gritty
suburban
tangos

the human's face all substance
absence
fine
molecular
illusion

& by staring deeply into your eyes
I've seen my death
in all
variations
possible

& variety's the spice
of life

Once

once a beggar in Amsterdam's dim quiet districts -
always a beggar
once whipped - whipped always
once in the gutter -
ends up in the gutter
once betrayed - always betrayed
once forgotten -
never forgotten
once revolutionary -
always a hobo
once a golden pallbearer
always a golden pallbearer
once a proud drunkard -
always a drunkard
once a junky - always a junky
a vein's explorer's a vein's explorer
once a stripper - always a stripper
once a word-garland - always a garland
once swarthy Arabian boys souteneur -
always Arabian boys souteneur
once an empty suitcase bearer
always an empty suitcase
bearer
once the airport's passive tramp
always the airport's passive
tramp
once a Marrakesh dizzy voyager -
always a dizzy Marrakesh voyager
once a cheap erotica writer -
always a writer
once a hornblower -
always a bird
once dancin' the devil -
always the devil dancin'
once a pusher - always a pusher
once an amateur stuntman -
always an amateur stuntman
once a spare passenger
always a spare passenger
once a soothing survivor -
always a soothing survivor
once in Paris -
always in Paris
once Madame Bleu's lover
always her lover
once dead
always reborn
once a pagan deconstructor -
always a pagan deconstructor
once a car-crasher
always car-crashing
once a cheap landscape painter
always a cheap landscape painter
once love's beautiful monster
always a beautiful monster
once in the cyclone of all god's plagues
always the cyclone
of all god's plagues
once a loser -
always a loser
once denied - always on top
once on top -
always fallen

How Gina sits

she sits on a rockin' chair
stormship
observing the ceiling
moth dance
the lightbulb anxiety
propaganda
the waves form her Persian
carpet
the wineglass
the bullets
remind her my reptile
halcyon days
golden years
antacid
drunkard
luxuries of oblivion
"my name is of no
importance"
she whispers
"my body's no longer
of use"
she purrs
"for you I'm no longer
of use..."
& from my balcony wide
magnoliagilded
she notices
J.C.
passin'
in the autumn needle rain
kino
for all the kids
interested:
he comes in sepia
whipped & shaken
the polish
zloty
savior

the clockwork
Kain
in anger...

I try to calm her
sing quiet illusory
lovesongs
quote Wilde
or paint her on my lilac
wall
right next to some cut-up
paintings
sketches of Spain
her child's first attempts
in crayons

try to rescue the skeleton
corset
Gina
from fallin' deeper & swifter
into gorgeous tiny
notepad
nursery rhyme
pieces
while smokin' ten thousand
Marlboros

nothing helps
as usual:
our Gina sees the light
only when she's really
dyin'

the moths dance still
"how banal" I mutter
"how quick & painless..."
she flutters
falls for the moth king
eyes stop at the lightbulb's
border
Gina burns
& gauges
away

she sure would like some
tecata
now

River actor beggars

one chilling noon
the bridge all new & enlightened
as opposed to our
spirit
all in patches & stain

middle of March
the marchy sun marchin'
our women ran away
w/ St.James queers & rag dolls
spiked as usual
wearin' hundreds of dresses
at once
one giant umbrella
hourglass
hobo

we've had raw fish served on
rusty Coke cans
blue weeds to top it
a bit of salt that someone
brought in
some rum
found at the wrecked
fishing boat's
deckhouse

the river would always feed
her beggars:
all people from her banks
are actors
the lowest deepest
society's
scum
all people here are
beggars
the stage's the marchy noon:
oiled
wooden
runaround

get ready for the play, boys
the river-a-callin'
the curtains set apart
impatiently waiting
for a new searing
drama...

the applause's the always
near
rain
& rooftop carbon
black
chick

9th life voyeurs

opening of the red prick wound:
thumbs up
for the savage
messiah

a box to stuff all your
deepest fear
in:
Japanese postcards
deliverer

empty port windows over
river's sad cunt

let us see how long he can
take it...
let us count his lives
polish the gun's wrathful
barrel

activate
the jazz machine
& wait
for the suicide syncope
the tactless
scat

fuel for the bloodlove
lucky
escapists

repaint all the icons
stick'em up the wound
see the red prick grow
the cancerous matter
relinquish
again

ancient cities raising up from the sea...

transmissions from his 9th life
voyeurs

The flowers of Vesuvius

can't pick the flowers of Vesuvius
anymore
they've become golden gypsy rings
for death's slick
elegant
fingers
the ones which wrote all my
poems

they've become stones on the road
to nowhere
they've become the road's
cruel
crowning
achievements

they've become the pointless
wanderer's
trophy
the Polish man of the mountain's
legend

can't pick the flowers of Vesuvius
any more

then why I still madly hold on to
the empty
clandestine
vase
in other people's
hell
corridor
of long-gone lava
shadow of dawn

The idiot

Existence matters still
or so I still think
even if cut to the bone
of its rawest
animal
basics

exist the best way you can
exist against the tide
exist in night's comfortable womb

ain't it how we used to
kill time...

ain't it the way that the trees used to
whisper...

now
cut down
to conditioned reflex
to the rubberwall society
rule
to the swayin' hips
to the stiffening tongue collisions

stripped to the makeupless nature
stripped to song
near the fireplace
murmured only into the echoing empty
horizon airwaves

stripped to the skeletal love
only

aired only for the radio
lonesome & weary ghost-listeners

they sometime use the open line
their condolences are vastly
touchingly
deaf

who deserves a song these days?
who deserves a poem...

this chemoreflex Hades
creeps on...

makes all our efforts
an idiot

The land of constant earthquake

gonna leave this here boring
death plateau
at the first night train's whistle

the land of constant misuse
misunderstanding
& meaningless
spleen of surviving madness

oh, the thrill of the daylight:
all fake

the land of anonymously passin'
men & women
in buses
buildings
& automobiles

wax-tax faces in the snowy streets
of May
all alike in their
horrifying
prophecy of end
paying bills
soon enough for air...

all on the same plate
all are now lunch
ready to be served...

recipes for living
careless
despite
the yawnin' bitter
meaninglessness

all underneath this dreamy
day-in-day-out
surface

what true satisfaction
is here to be found...

what else but
temporary
replacements...

enough is enough:
gonna leave tonite
to the land of constant earthquake
where everyday's a comet
and I'm her
timeless
endless
tail

the gods await their
favorite
fools...

the fools are on their way
always...

Cheese moon fails

the cheese moon has failed
yet once
again
drowned in the bare
mercury river's
dip
passing houseboats'
juxtapoints
colonies of river
monks
bearers of truths
always heavy
in the white summer's
middle
ground

litanies goin' nowhere
night still young
& over the top

all spectators
barbiturate...

rats leave barge
rusty
heavens

the moon shall feed
curiosity
the dip adds trust
to the monks'
foul taste
cascadin' down the
pretty
rabies
tails

the cheese moon has failed
yet once
again

& the symptoms
were simply
outrageous

The sad troubadour

half-face in pencil - look, the other half
in dim watercolor's
vida
one-legged - wooden
half-throatedly placed at the
pedestal of
half-only mercy
posed

half-eared only
how can he hear his
voice
precisely
correct the scale
pun
follow his vision well
well

the gravel which precedes all
captivity
follows:
to no one's surprise makes him
captive

caged
half-bird
fake verse alliance
the primal chord conquest...

tryin' to bite through the cage
w/ one tooth left
one arm on duty
the other pickin' concrete
flowers
replacing the moon
w/ post-moonlite
erzacs

to jump off the pedestal
on the missing leg
to kill all his smalltown Buddhas

phony as Marita's latest dress
keepin' her image in song
half-hearted
he falls off stage
dies softly in sleep
in the
shadow's spotlight
mission

Mexically lost

"Viva Zapata!" - through the broken glass
window
peachy sombrerian lips of some teenage
mini-skirted Felina's pussy
the one that purred all-nite long
to Nat King's Cole perfected
climax

through her broken fingernails
black magic world
through her bitter
synthesis errors
& her jargon lovers
deceased
books not yet
written
voodoo dolls
that never quite worked
on me...

"Viva Zapata!" - all along the lines
of a motorcycle crash
fairy boy
helmet still on
well-crafted before
at his ocarina
& men
keen on vodka & Eastwood movies
in his cabaret borgne
routine

the front of the feral death bus
smeared now
w/ contagious bloodcells
saliva
trees
brain collage signed
& delivered...

god, the disease is
everywhere...

"Viva Zapata!" - through my ulcer
giant vein
through cold chicken skin legs
through pus-filled sink
cuvette
curtains
chessboard tiles
medicine closets
nameless corpses buried in my
landlord's backyard...

must leave now
must get on the next
Puebla-headed
kabbalah
freight train

the dawn's closing in on me
too soon...

Accidentally last

my very best poem will be the last one
the one written in invisible ink
stuck between a row of dusty
Kadarka
bottles
& withered sunflowers
the one on some ragged
yellowed piece of paper
or the one written in wax
on Basquiat's art
facsimile
or w/ chalk
on my favorite sidewalk
for someone who likes to play
hop-scotch

the one that will only express
my breath's
vivid
holiness
the one accidentally found
by the new house's owners
who'll never know
a poet lived here
before...

the one that went
to the dustbin...

a poem to summarize
my anonymous
presence:
the disenchanted
final
doorslam
the 2 A.M. coughing
Cohen's old songs
& your reddening
curls

a poem scratched on asylum's
ceilings
w/ petrified
matchsticks:
a poem a lifetime long

the poem the straight jacket
hides...

the poem w/ one word only:
"holy, holy, holy..."

Crazy cloud

The crazy cloud smiles again
point his malaise swift finger
at me
directly at the
psyche's delicate
burnin' core

his Thunderbird consciousness
thunders
his vineyard grows as sunlight's
sad frozen
remains

the finger is now
the entire sky-projector
the entire blooming presence
of spring

his favorite pupil must now
subdue
must self-discover
the lie within
the lie at the base of
the world

the winter's tricks for
everyone
the fun and the cleanliness
of summer

shakin' hands with Ikkyu
seemed easy to do
but loosening the grip
is now simply
impossible

the wind that blows blows through me
the hurt that hurts hurts through me
the old vein opens
again

unable to hold a matchstick
in the napalm
spitfire

unable to be free
unable to remain
imprisoned

The pendulum

do you sometimes see the stormcloud's
restless ethereal pendulum
the stormbringer's sore belongings
the ones which cut open the eye
pump in the ozone
sub Rosa
ah, but one cigarette's smoke
end
away...

so many curves to follow...
so many back
roads...

the ones which are sadly
overused
misspelled
concealed
by teachers pretending to be
magicians

killing the primal magic in us
the raw primitive
genius

do you sometimes recognize
unspeakable kingdoms in one of your
hemispheres
in their daily lie-injections
in the lies the others so gently feed you
in the fictions they try to
turn to
your truth...

never disown your truth.

the irresistible need to believe
in something or someone
an idol
an icon
a fetish...

what kind of shit they made us
believe in...

to make us feel better
to make us survive
sub Rosa...

to make us
overlook
the true soul's death
as their
humble
meatheaded
servants
w/ merely some rights
to the vote
gesture

Nonresistance

I talk mostly to antennas these days
communicate w/ stray dogs
fall in love w/ lightning-conductors
avoiding the businessmen
shitpot

levitate myself above these bullshit
areas
above the clean white lie
the translucent one
the one that the radio spoke
of

into the ever opening
meditating
rooftops
I vanish
w/ the howling silence I merge
I enjoy it
as predicted...

craving to become
the hermit clown
the possum
literate cleaner
alone in grey room's corner

primal magic searchin' wild one
lost one
mad one
blazin' w/ all angels' fury

I decompose myself w/ the run of
staircases
elevators
I catch the falling stars
admire the dawn brigades
order
my hands are full of holes...
these holes are full of stars...

I slowly breathe in all nite's perfumes
all the wicked little loves
all the lovely
wickedness

I learn to love
the unlovable
nonresistance

Contact

we've came into contact
w/ god's perfidious manic
staff
the one which plots
all hells and heavens
the one which assures us
impatiently
that's there's no other haven
for us
but the perfect enlightenment
at life's end
the cradle a-rockin' again
god's tender hand
keepin' vigil

but life is endless...
there is no resting time
all havens are illusory
the vigil has been
accidentally
shot
in the head

such a very brave laughter
followed...

the little red hole of pleasure...
the tasty self-portrait...
the legend...

the waves are electrically served
upon our eyeplates
already degenerated
dimlands
we so childishly take as our
home

so sure that we exist
so sure that we move on

so sure - yet still in the same place
still in contact
w/ our mirrored
mediums
only

still spitting out
witnessed
monologues

The red tambourine

Speaking material
w/ elserealms illusory
jingles&jangles
in mind

try not to follow
the tambourine's rhythm:
lost
traceless
in a matter of
seconds

words are not
your
possessions
no-one's belongings
spiritual
abbreviations

try speaking material for years
try having those elserealms
in mind

try living
the
jingles&jangles

awake on a strange day
in an empty room
winter's middle
heating off
no blankets but the word one
stranger nights
follow

find yourself wherever you are
wherever you are
is now
at the very
extreme
heartbeat's
end

Amber

your hands & feet
sliced through eyes like
peanut butter
seashell amber
a chocolate cross behind
you
nothing but the white wall
to follow
yet another well-crafted
slide

the place for all ghost's
the uncertain
black jelly
epicenter
in the back of your head
where rooms are rented
for a good piece of
ass

mirages of swing low telegraph pole
deserts
succumbus peripheral travels
on mosquito's sun-steered wings
ghost city voids of unspoken territories
precise depictations
of your skeletal self
the ragged hound
swearing
pissing
at his homesick's home gateway

scratching poems
on his Cadillac's
windscreen
in his Cadillac's
stop light
haze

in the precise conspiracy
of his writing
headquarters

we'll publish most anything
you just give us the clue
the gut
the scentless print vomit
the posthumous
publication
rights

Quipu

let me unriddle those talking knots
all is a wheel & all must return
word garlands
reading color
codex
where
the queen of a hundred lovers
welcomes the poet
prince of spades
under feathered snake
Pyramid shadow
& their children start
the new age's
conquest:
no clay puppets
no half-men
of the first
creation
no strings hangin'
down from the moon
the theremin willows
gaze at

Cancer/Aquarius
& that's about it...

that is the man's jilted journey

what legends unreadable
still remain
what incomprehensive
facts
are truer
& weary
what lurks at the Sun Lake's
bottom

try breaking
the bearded white men's
return rule...

books burnin' on stakes
stars shake in their bearing

Golden Man, where are you
where are the stove
lucky devils
giving their way
to the fifth sun savior...

Bug

Tear down all the decorations
all arabesque facades
the gruesome bog motels
fen-fire gold bricks
old western armies still breeding
veterans
the 19th century vulgar absurd
burns it
spoils it

cut off immediately
all secret phonecalls
all whispered allusions
wretched body language
sign exposition politics
car-crash woman's brains
on the misty reducable TVscreen
operational ears in full
concentration
camps activity
future grotesque
party agents
operating in nonviolet

tear down all dead museums
vacant human galleries
witness all those motel
Bibles
go blank
rest awhile:
those post-dada beds
pierced nightlamps
machine gun footstools
hype bedsite tables
lack of the right word
lack of the wrong word
word
are all at your service

the awakening process
begins
dream crawls back into the
bi-polar daylight's
broad suited cog
reality's grim green grip
tightens

then reduces the dream
to a Kafkaesque
bug

5 A.M.

5am

the usual trauma
begins

rain hitting
straw roof
frantic

is the coffee still coffee
table still wooden
chairs plastic chairs
paper still usual
paper
pen still pen
head still placed firmly
on shoulders
still shoulders
& mine

is this still
our Mexican
borderline
shed

is the you still you
or vertically
arranged
frosty alien glimpses
of doggy weather
pigs

is this bed still a bed
is the chimney
still ON

is everything
as we left it
before
we
exited
dreamlives

All-nite coughing

All-nite coughing proceeds
only
into the emptied out
pockets
of the shrink-beggar's
sanity preservation
park

his wunderkind
lost suicidal
past
& false academic
treasury

them leaky shoes...
the glowing kirsch need...

the all-nite coughing proceeds
through all hotel
floors
through buckets of ice
and all-nite
it's-the-room-to-your-left
gangbang

the nameless do understand
all matter of things
acceptance
all life supporting
duties
all uselessness
of written word
& the pros and cons
of sleeplessness

the heroes they are...

the perfect stranger's kindness
the nighttime's blood eye
servitude...

while the all-nite coughing proceeds...
& each cough is holy
believe it or not
is
several hours of sleep
& a kiss
from Rimbaud
at a gunpoint

Awake...awake...the voice did whisper

Have I just heard Blake's dulcet voice
commenting my childish joy
annexing my innocent being
stroking my primal
most intimate instincts
& rosy thorns
in lilies & doves
entwining...

did Blake just whisper „awake...”
to my ever revolving
freelove inherence
or am I already
fully awaken
playin' my humble
resignation
role

is the voice still floating breezily
through my opening ribs
collecting ash love
once fires of Eden
forming an Eve golden chapel
out of those ribs dirt
red clay

singing out silver treelines
playin' the blue heart violin
telling us to go
and make the land
our own again

putting a wild tiger's signpost
in my desiccated
already
lovegarden
denying
discipline's
shackles

out of my wasted heart
cracking
the voice cries out
old passions
again

Buddha's belly

I am the biggest child
of the bigger child
of the big child
dwelling in Buddha's belly
swallowing bullets
landmines
white soldiers of the western
barbarian altar's
demolition ricochets
swallowing
warmongers
spitting out baskets of lotus

intruding on colors and places
spitting out chocolate and myrrh
swallowing roadbugs
spitting out angels
chromed crystal
aborted
blessings
all new & gleamin'

swallowing all unworthy
gathered greed treasures
false second comings
spitting out frankincense, gold

swallowing earth's pumped-over
mirage
ghosttown dustbowl delusions
suburban chemicals fiction
fumes perfumes and ideal matches

swallowing the all-controlling
terror machine

swallowing death
under K aerosol skies
swallowing skies
of the K aerosol
swallowing the heatwave
of human virus
potency

I am the biggest child
of the bigger child
of the big child
carelessly losing the planet game
bored w/ toys
way too simple

Solar lottery

What else is God
but a solar lottery
accident prone

what are we
but his Californian reflections
cordial incarnations
of the
spirit, if lucky

cobblestone short distance
runners
souvenirs buying
blind dead drunk
children

what else is God
but meringue dancing
revolutionaries
on Cuba skies where angels play
dominoes
waving still
transparentically
swordstoned
skin
holes

what else is God
but a high heeled
beautiful Negress
waiting for her bus
in the dust road
passing

how gently swim all those projections
in her black sweaty
beautiful
skinsea
of all the end's new beginnings

suspended like blood cells
absurd
chandeliers
pregnant

what else is God
but our own image
of one

Indian chess

Indian chess, why mandatory:
the point is to get to the middle
the point is
a draw

witness
all white rules
of
consequence

player's hand gets gently bitten
by the
unsatisfied
raging
queen

the pawn's consecration:
no castling
no chances

no choices expanding
the cloud-in-the-wall
line
the eye-in-the-cloud-in-the-wall
submission

the pieces are willful
while the player's hand
sets this
machine's gears
at
initial positions

after that
the game is settled
by pieces
only
consequently

A short run

buying used vinyls at Prenzlauer Berg
German rock mostly and drum beats
smoking grass w/ the store owner's
underage daughter
under heavy curtains of her sabbath backyard
enthusiastically fucking
giggling:
the hookah was enormous

experiencing the mort
in Montmartre
drinking with Dalida
Embrasse-moi... and beyond...
like a martyr for all things forgotten
leaving a single tear
on her ghost breast palace
while climbing dead bridges & jumping off
garage roofs near motel

chasing pink-blue boa scarfs
suicidal alchemist's
notebooks obscure
and dada remainders of freedom
at Madrid's crowded impromptu
second hands, markets
whistling at buses & little Latinos

losing my black pens
at Baltic Sea
burning papers, changing skins
finding blue shells just to fill their
sea white noise
with sand-words of mine
never mine
while Calita would sketch me
in pencils
never hers...

how sad
in our hopeless run
for
all things & memories preservation...

Lemons

Most beautiful god's creatures
whichever god you think of
are lemons
so washed-out
exhausting

they're like travelin' women
in a static glance
w/ their yellow tight peels dirty
acid insides
lavatorial lips
screaming: Porter!

oh where are all travelin' women
beerlovin' kind cunts of friendship
slick and disastrous with their Irish hair
curling
bays of the outer green depths
my lemons...

waving their flags on cheek galleon's masts
holding the steer
like a stainless steel razor
taking you west
from the tights rooms of opium
swinging in syncopes
mad surgeon's hypes
all clued-up
immortal

squeeze them the way they like to

most beautiful god's creatures
whichever god you think of
must be properly used
before the dawn
eats
their gringo

this way, the girly show!

Living in the memory
of a broken man...

Bread & coffee

Got tired of this whole
bread&coffee
variation
wine to water
symptoms
human condition
hallmarks

still don't know what exactly
is the very main cause
of
our failures

what are our opponent
textures

building on sand like a bastard
son
walking on water like Jesus

standing in front of the kitchen door
drunk as a
third-rate prophet
glad-rags on & odorous
exclaiming my revelations
to the fried-egged
wall

holding tighter
onto my pants
hoping
that the belt won't slip
again

that the promise
remains
unbroken

The first & the last

The very first words of
a word-plumber
drowned

the very last words
of the so-called
jazz singer

such a cheap song to choose...
you probably just couldn't
go cheaper

the very last dividing
the very last
confluence
of souls

the very last
hopeless
gaiety girl's
curtsy

the very last dance for the
striptease
admirers

last hunt ever
for the deer
lover

the very first out-of
the very last into

nothing functions perfectly

but then:
does anything
function
at all...

Whistling workers

Careless whistling of construction worker's
blues
sweat bricks
odors of fly meat
seared by hotter equatorial explosions
black jeans burn
white cap stutters
TNT evolves

eyes closed still seeing the radiant
sea of sunclouds
witnessing own resurrections
deaths of whole cultures
at the white guy's realm dream borders

why are my ears and noses around
to witness
all lack of luck and luck of lack-all
happy to be blinded and deafened
by my white guy's
categorizing
lunacy

why erect them spacey glass works hotels
solid roof mosquitoes
figments of Aztec legend
chaotic processions
of summer
ripped out hearts
gold torture
if not for the pleasures
of failure

will leave this jungle hell lodge
misused as heaven
treated like portraits of sunsnow
in dim light lakes

so the careless whistling continues
not aware
of its consequences
ten thousand years from now

Dead one

This here creature is a dead one
already feeding on its own corpse
50 years from now on
already observing the flesh
abandon its bone arcades
already sucking its eyes out
spiced with pepper
& crowned with olives:
now snails
of higher tasteforms...

this here creature is beer obnoxious
standing in a thunderbolt
tequila boompalace
drinking straight from the shower
standing in front of a word gun

already watching his dead dick dance
w/ worms
of fatal forgiveness
stiffer
salsa

death's orgasm's death...
this creature likes extremities

this here creature's
a frozen frame already
motion picture dead rat
50 years from now
checking in to the underworld Ritz
champagne and caviar included
poised and ready for bald ladies
of Charon
messing w/ fat cats on Valium

how strange for the now-creature
to look at the dead one
and wonder:

how mice-sized are the life-important
dominoes of breath
the traps of coming and leaving...

so the now-creature sighs
and waits for no-one...

String communication

Have you come to visit from the stone deaf valley
purified of all experience
or
have you come to leave the pavilion's of lust
steel naked amorouants
definitely starving

it's all the same for me
and the fact counts
you came at all
and the fact counts
you'll leave for all
not even
dimly aware
of where you came in
& why

so while hanging here on thin very
string communications
I can only say hello
and wave at your faux pas
grace:
watch me passing by
with a parrot-repeating disaster
tombstone
them swingin' low birches
singing their mantric
hallelujah Decembers

the fact counts your bodily temple
as Our Blue Lady of Sorrow's
preservation
& her rambling angels
of her miserable kindness
& that's why I wave
my hellos
at all:

I wouldn't notice
the visit
if not for its melancholy
blindness
doubtless...

& the stringy structure
of the stingy
cosmos

Dead fingers decide

Urgency...

where were we
really
on this magic city
corner
singalong delay
tenement thief
houses

ghosts of their
replaceable
lodgers
creeping up chimneys
drawn with our dead city fingers
fumblin' the pudding like sky
in search of the
delave

practicing our senses
on white meat
& soybean
dimmed sky enlacement
oppressant
courageous

there must be some kind of
underwater
surface
passable

but where is the passing
while we were really
on this magic city
corner

let dead
fingers
decide

Bungalow no 3

glued my eyes up to the mighty sky dynamo
containing
outdoor beauty and cans of leisure
being one
like fish on rice and beans and orchids
ornaments from the old man
of the mountain's
puff-machine...
there & here we slither
now & zen
not meant for life and/or death
rather immortal frequencies
of los voladores
repeatance and repeatance and repeatence
in deep chairs
sweet-talk peaches
church choirs
shit-talk hobos
wasted gurus
of unmade religions
jumping up at every train's whistle
looking for diamonds
in their noses
and rubies
in other cavities
hoping the train's thrust will end all things
now...
wipe out giant piles
of cowboy boots
and violet lipsticks
like cells
of a bigger apparatus
there is the whole globe here
hole globe here...
& the room
divided precisely into four mighty pieces
reminds them of the cross
which is all things simple
& universe translucent...

over Bungalow no 3
the sky is never empty:
stars are all spaces
times

1970 avenue

Cardboard boxes prophets
cold weather delicate investigators
spitting out mural
apocalypses
moans of KC engines
spaghetti
in red paint, blue paint, white paint
not allowing a spice
of concrete
to
shine through
their nocturnal flashing
of spraypaint...

getting older
twice as fast
as your regular
food coupon
salvation coupon
Joan of Arc
variation
new age resurrectional
promise

couldn't help but notice
shoes alike mine
heads alike mine
hands alike mine
eyes alike mine
hailing Marys
lantern-sticked-to
vulnerable
barely walking
corrosions

abandoning places
& faces
when bored w/ their
pale sanitary
intensity

rolling incognito
into bleached infirmaries
Stetson-crowned
and awaiting caskets
grabbing nurse's legs
fuckin' faster
underbenches

Raincoat

swore to be a Swan
forgot the neck
limit
barb-wire
captivity

swore to be a Lion
forgot the hunting
need
the blood thirst
the Wild Eye

swore to be a Rose
forgot that I'm not of
her kind
forgot I'm not plaited
of Beauty

swore to be an Angel
forgot that I'm dirty
as fuck
forgot that my feet
are still in the mud

swore to worship Truth
forgot all's illusion
forgot all questions'
fake answers'
questions

swore to be an Eagle
forgot that my own wings
won't lift me
too high
forgot that I'll die
not in flight

swore to be a Man
but I'm just a young
not too
beautiful
Loser
hangin' on to my cigarette
hangin' on to my
Raincoat

Another last cigarette poem

She: pulpfictionous
he: cantankerous

she
on the rooftop
about to jump
flake

he
dancin' w/ castanets
gutsy
below

she and he a LIE
she and he PRESENT
she and he
already
NONEXISTENT

to be HERE
and be YOU
is THE
sweetest
curse
predicted:

see how life slowly kills you
see
how life
wins
gigantic

while
the last cigarette
still tastes
the best

To the railrider

freely & carefully choose
your train of destination
follow the goodhearthed rail
whichever this rail
really is
wherever the blunt moon horizon
points to

whichever
western
lands
invitingly
twinkle

wherever the world's end
happens to lay
at this here
turn of
the big wheel

justify nothing
validate no one
participate only
in soulfeeding
fiestas

carefully choose
your journeymates

make your crew invisible:
utterly mad
unspeakably wasted
sporadically furious
tempted
disjointed
spongelike
lunatics

make all the rails meet
at the point of no return
then
make all returns
unwantedly
simple

Solitary exercise

Just another solitary room
exercise
cross-checked
on swordfish
possibility
inspected
on sweet-talk
occasion
visiting Egypt through
smokescreen corridors
in overnight-sofa-position

crossworded & naked
w/ rains closing in
curtains of green
fluttering
oceans

world's still sharp
pendulum
swingin'...
swarming amigos
creeping in...

strangely
the roof
is still
there...

strangely
your head is still pumping
lava lamp
concordance
Vertinsky's ancient magic

strangely
you're still
not there
yourself

after all these years
of experimental
dictator's
surveys

The mark inside

you
who's got the
unique
smokestack delicacy
values
filled to all
human
capacity

you who's got
cockroach
endurance

you
the eighteen-wheeler's
fog
honk

you
doing amazingly well
despite
all-against
factualities
spiraling madly outsideness

utterly simple
not-to's
no-way's
& how-to's
abandonments

you
who will survive
you – unwipeable

you
the mark
inside

the mark
unbeatable

Bridges

the far-eastern bridge of oil in orange
god-like
flows into the western bridge of sanity
blue-spotted gentle
crossing madly
the delirious bridge of yesteryear's passions
flavors
ornaments
street specimens
delicate voices of amber
death-angels
frozen in benevolent ashes
praying over restless bridges of amaranth
echoes
filled w/ jumpers & trombone masters
dildoed whores panicked
of the frequently damaged
White Corners
where poetry's jazz and jazz's poetry
neitherway
and anyone chooses trumpets of fervor...

blow!

bridges are
what bridges see
& what can we make of'em
with diamond-hands
and hair of gasoline
burning
fanatic circles of flat notes
perfect

have I just heard the Blue Kantata
orchestrated
or was it just a vacant point
in the sweet time-ravaged
Hollywoods of glory...

it's all so jimdandy
dear Gina of honor...

and now
we're hitting
La Paz...

Oh the rainbows!

Yowling and howling down the bowling crumbling
staircase of indecision
got that yesterday afternoon
feeling...
still remembering August fiestas
under grilled sunlights of Avalon
pearls...

but that was a cat's paw memoir...

being reality's ashcan

Howling and yowling down the kitchen's
flimsiness

still believing that another shaving
will punctuate my brain's cliche
and make it work...

now to the bathroom

admiring women only these days
and their solitary velvet nostalgias
w/ overburnt fingertips
giving come-hither looks
crawl-nearer smiles...

avoiding fuck-ups
concentrating on my mantra
and butter

watching the window creak
hearing my bread cry...

why is the whirlwind still young
and the dog barking willing
yowling and howling
shaving the beard he's been growing
for rainbows

Siva in rags

we can't help the dead elephants alleygates
can't solve the mystery of their
burial...
can't even step closer
to their wedding
voodoo
where dice are of ivory cheektears
collected as precious milk babies
while incense draws salvation
around crushed naked foreheads

look how they gather, these mighty fantoms...
if people were so majestic...

ah, but we prefer solitaire
in our dying
hosannah honeypots
choosing wrong wombs
of delivery...

how can we balance the elephant's weight
with a single
butterfly breath of soulpalace?
that's all the weaponry at hand...
such fragile canvas
of our fragmented genius
featherweighted arms of possession...

we are Siva in ruin
temples in collision
skulls of smog policemen

how can we stand against
their red lights of channeling
with our tiny white neons of alpha connective
experiences laughable...

and force our pale reminders
to live again
as burial's swirling reflections

we are all Siva in rags
we are all Siva
we are all
we are
we...

there is no one inside but the wind...

Thingless

I am whitefeather
cracked antique
cuckoo clock
snakeskin boots
jeans jacket
just a whiler
messy blues

I am the raja
groceries
inbringing
supermarket reaper's
nonpresencies

I am a rice bowl
zippo
rapid eye movement
tastebud
rowin' clown

I am fair logos
ascension
safety-belts on
stoned
parameters

while
of all the things I am
I mostly enjoy
the very fragile
wave-like
thing
sequence

but mirror sweet mirror
who are you
when
thingless...

Denial

Do not paraphrase me
overintense me
caress me
arrest me

do not touch
the Bodhisattva's universal
navel
do not even smile
in his presence
unasked

do not conclude
resume
prevent
do not stare blindly
into his eyehole

do all things pleasure
able
do all things
possible
for all which you please
is allowed in this
house
instead

the way you stand naked
is the way
you are
the way you stand dressed
is the way
you are

in both
instances
so beautiful
in both instances
god's gold
fieldflower

equivalent of
the gateless gate's
obvious
truth
of denial

For Ramona

Putting down words in a death-fearing fury
Ramona finally leaves sofa
her fishnets stained w/ mayonnaise
hair all wet of watermelons
fingers completely crooked
from holding a pen for all of her life
too tight
and completely wrong
lips still in vodka

a rented room in Paris
working class quarter
cold coffees & ashtrays
mess
Dream Machine in the corner
pics of Gandhi
useless bass guitar
remains

the house of the sunk cities legends
the French underwater bells...

this damned wind of her sorrowlust
points out her latest mandala:

Ramona wants to die fully
standard death don't turn her on
standard death's for pussies
Ramona whispers...

she moans then
and this begins
her karmic illusion
of a suffering circus
holding on to as many bullshits
as she likes and loves
completely

the room screams all Bibles and Vedas...
Ramona, I end here...

there's no way of showing you mercy
in these here
occurrences

Plath's lookalikes

Don't give me those teenage
Plath's lookalikes
Plath's suicidal copies
sitting mute in radio room corners
tatamis-a-plenty & sweating
they'll never get out
of their
grey
rooms
grey
eyes
grey
hair
grey
verse
poesy
let'em stay grey
& die the way they want to...

god give me peace
from their
psychotic admirance
free me of their muddy kisses
seaweed
exposure
F-23 phobias
exaggerations
overlyromantic undertones
slices of their
alleged verse abilities

don't give me Plath's lookalikes
Plath's writealikes
Plath's perfumed all over
the body
lost girls
they'll never get out
of their
dim
lights
sink
bugs
wax-stained
socks
Okudzhava
whistling
bluntest
simplicity

Doppelganger consequence

I've drank life to the fullest
so
it drank me too
very
fully

without asking
permissions

you'd never imagine
how
quick
how
cruel
how
completely

how out of
my
attention

left a scared little meatshell
guttercreature
crawlin'
behind all lifeforms
below the Spirit
still young at body
but permanently
dead
at soul

stranger
to all
affection

exploiting invisibilities
shifting overboldly
the Doppelganger
consequence
to the fullest

like ketchup on
sardinecan
dog's tail
or
acid-fed spider's
web
at
last

Cheapness here

Cheap newspapers bring forth
the essence of life
this whole lustrous pulp
of deliverance
trapped in finger staining rainprint
wired fence delicacy
where grandmas and grandsons
and daughters and fathers
read all about the dandy
scandals
in overshort
Gothic romances

in their multicolored framed
bahamous pictures
dumb celebrity hatchbacks
& verse prostitution
stoned forests of chemical salvation
captured w/ cat's eye precision
d'you wonder where you fit
sometime
in these chaotic monstrosity's
surprises?

made myself a suit
out of newspaper
idiocy
and took a walk downstreet
upstreet
middleways
head up in the far rings of Saturn
feet down in the shock Dante's value
my inbetweens
stuck between the wigmen
and sadmen of localities
paintful

while I am ever rotating
crazier and crazier
as the days turn into seasons:

let them people stare dumb as they always do
while my hunchback feet
come like hullabaloo

Oh Germain, my Germain

St.Germain, where are you, sick mother
when folks out there
need ya like hell

when folks out there
would've liked
a conversation or two
to figure out your current status...

bow to your
countclown
irresistibliness

grace of a temptible
sharkfin's lookafter

to see your latest
spitshine incarnation
in a bar broken mirror
golden buddhagilded backdoor
or some local balalaika hero's
mustached
face

to inhale into deepest
attics
fragments of
your peripheral attribute wands
to have an audition w/ solar
forgiveness

or to finally witness
inevitable
changes
in the big bang parades
of your structure...

that's what Aquarian means
backwards

when your lies of la's of the Shangri
finally become truth,
where are you, sick mother, enlightened jive icon
while your golden children
from Fountain Youth
still wait restless
for yours
who-knows-which-number
coming...

Breath verse

can I precompose my breath verse
the perspectively idiot ramblings
of a sun-bathed leaf-cheese-coffee
sutra
pine ocean atrophia

can I sense other
Mother Night disciples
featherbugs
only now curled very gently
under your elbow
island
exchanging beads and firewater
for oil
the other way round
conclusions
afraid of your savage eyepillow
stranger
moth collecting
van Gogh's repainting
bluegirl
shygirl

can I make you Mother Night
rename you on several occasions
forewrite you an altar
carefree for a pitiful while
wild
seagully enthralled
just
there

& gratefully offer bum radio magic
resistance code-poem
charms
to other distant
blazed w/ armygreen
skyways

which remain the very first sky
of our birth
the very last sky
over
Earth's sisters tired
still dirt-painted
thighs
waiting...

For pagoda lady

Soft and sullen ikebanas for the drenched in sun
pagoda lady

at the bottom of the well
sits her reflection
looks up to the mirrored sky
interminable
like distant cherry breezes
everly admired...

stepping lightly on emperor's garlands
of dragon sketches
ashes

giving birth to worlds countless
incredibly
in tune
with white ink
of her
decision

can you jump into the well w/ your sandals
on fire...

can you count the ashes
of your former reflections
former mirrored skies
and Japanese postcards...

The student

Been studying souls and cities
mirages of Mojave desert
overlayed
over
this here hand-twisted
thousands of years lasting
utopian urban structure
Turkish poppystore studded
permutated like willing carcass
lips
on their sharp-teethed Berlin girl
owners
&
there's overeagerly more
at the opium's wasted
joker's
self-mutilating
hand...

at some hole-in-the-sky
bone hotel he coughs out
the departing nonsense...

been studying souls and cities in all their
atrocious forms
those all-parts-of-body cancers
sweeping up doctor's internal inertias
smashing up the tightmind
blackbloodlaced
vineyarded
pseudowindows
of
his amoeba perception
in spare time

staggerin' through
thousand tons of flesh crap
one million & seven brickwalls
life rehab prayer processions
rot & plot, bop is hot
while cheap Russian whores start dancing
on my Arbat-shaped parquet
killing the poetry-boychild
fueling the crazy-drunk-bum-
sickness
feeding me shrooms
giving me head
priceless...

& never rely on vibrators

All in the eye

Never recolor your past
deroot yourself instead
never decide for yourself
wind yourself
the fragile killer insanity voidness
is just a roach step ahead
one door ajar
three seconds of sleep
at the verge of night city earthquake
at the wing of a dope-stuffed chicken

& all we ever get here under this lazure bogus
dome
are dull replacements of heaven
the never-worry privileges
of eyefog
the soothing karma of never-ends
& survival
cathedrals&parks reminiscences
childhood games
for May

tiny biting
blind geometer's jokes
sketching paranoid
cubes
& lines
putting us all in their limits

the teddy-bear level of consciousness
most of us exist on
most of us find joy in
most of us believe in
most of us swallow as God
in an eyeblink

so what can this poor boy here do
but write
on anything his hands come across
with anything he happens to have at hand
on tables, walls, sheets, handkerchiefs
cigarette boxes
breasts of his onenight ladies

Gallery slip

while street-workin'
he notices mobiles:
girls using china plates
as earrings
redundant Gypsy weddings
parlor
legs
men walkin' swan graceful
vulgar
absurdities
shooting them china plates
w/ Bogart's rented
45s
tryin' to get to Ashtray Sally's
overpoetic
prisms

life gets closer to heavenly
brilliance
slicker bolder
down the
nine ocean steps
like nine are the good notes
in everynite's
deaf
big-band's
show-offs

this is chaos theory
in practice
this is streetart
purest
forewarned is forearmed
guardian
subversives

technically speaking
we are all creators
& participants
of the craziest
biggest
performance ever:
galaxy
gallery
slip

Independence

The moon during daytime
is the most beautiful
moon
cloud-like solitary
man-like irrelevant
ice-like crashing
creation

not a watcher, a doer
fine eyereflected
demon

trouble-makin' machine's
only excuse
for another
dawnbreak
w/ a billion of deaths
still available

scratch the moon
away
you proud
wild
stripper boy:
exclaim dependness
only to your
ego

then slowly
but precisely
scratch the ego
away...

let its echo haunt your
projections whileless

awaiting another daybreak
in these so-long-familiar
void-like
steam stuffed
realms of
nullification

dependent
on
nothing

African blooddrums

African blooddrums rattle scattle shuttle
palpitate & flatter
evil kasongos

timber poststamps cover
Zair's deepest meanders
protectory landslides
precious goldmines on fire
Salomon's temples
adventurer tramps
shotgun carryin' bewildered horsemen
last summer's episode's
soundtrack
still some blank points at maps
still some cannibal
B-class orgies
still some room for one more
European trash
bored man

entering the round house of women
at solstices only
collecting the myth
of the tribes
tiptonguely

forming primetime confusion arrows
methodically listing
her roses and princesses
connotations
to get to the gold & diamond
swamped w/ prehistory
reading Congo francais 10c

then musical chairs & Mercedes Benz feeria
pax over troubled
palm oil convoy
enthusiast
haunted still
by medicineman's
death magic

Move

Dare to move
explore the move
be the move
spit out the move
sweat the move
choose the move
feed the move
starve the move
vomit
the move
shave off
the move
park the move
stop the move
never

observe the move:
mad livin' mad dyin'
& finally madly saved
life-called obscenities

dancing w/ gods little pupils
dust below feet
clouds below heads
before

naked sorrow-raving sun apostles
portrayed w/ their drunk Mexican
wives
Panama's living havens
armopened
thoughtsculptured
guerillas

& all on the move
mad on the move
dig on the move
fall on the move
rise on the move
die on the move
hit on the move
play on the move
marked
dice
whatever
do move

Become the becoming

To finally become no one
to have this incredible
privilege
of disappearing

immer und immer
unterwegs
blinded
by your own
skin

to finally sleep awaken
to stay awake asleep
become like the river's
untitled
manuscripts

& all true
ocean's legends
sadly rejected

to finally taste what's tasteless
& inhale
nothingness

watch
passionate lungs
explode
see this weary young heart
stop w/ a slowroar

to finally become the witness
of all start's end
& all end's start
to enter the Great Out Inn
to stay there
& talk on vision
rhymes & syntax
w/ all sages of imagery
ever imagined
by readers

to finally become the becoming
to land here again
and greet the new planet's
exploding
om
canvas
whyafter

Bum seraphim

all praise the bum seraphim
all thirsty
for day's glow
eternity

all filled w/ insanity garlands
roses tulips
strawberries
stuffed w/ madcaps
Cheshire cat's mountain
tops
ever rollin' like Euphrates does
ever snowin' like winter does
ever singin' like the hummingbird
does
never & forever
on his kneeded suffering
devoided
Lhasa pilgrimage

crawlin' like the ivy does
expandin' like the cosmos does
dyin' like the sunray does
brilliant
as dew drops
alive
as the stones
precise
as thunder

praisin' life as life does
vanishin' like the wind does
livin' like the prairie does
fragmented
unified
hollow

all praise the day's
glow
bum seraphim
odyssey

god's fingers exploring so vividly
gently
his unborn yet
tomorrows

Left behind hiways

Riding your spine elevator
on heroin legs
fat bug agents of delirium
crumble
through high rise busstops
of your brainwatch
filled w/ fire engine sirens
pigmobiles scents
of terror
echoes of Carla's mini skirt
Edens in plastik

creatures nameless
thoughtless endless
drained drops of last year's raindrum
evident manifestations
of the Shadow Boys'
toilet conspiracy
and the writer's mute
erotic acceptation
of their truly annoying
presence
concentrate
at my boot tip
the paralyzed fur cock
crazy old crook

guillotine hatchbirds
kill again
rearview mirror Clinton cats
coyotes
writing in left behind
hiways only

Now!

Blowing cucumber paprika trumpets
what are we god what are we
now

carrot mouthpiece
to top it all
would've made
'ole Gaillard proud
who are we god who are we
now

ages-old-dream-come-true
or idiocy-per-se
defined
eternity's delightment
which are we god which are we
now

freed from all freedom wanderers
'twin times, sufficiently
immortal
or still in the same sky
penitentiary
giving out the last
delirious murmurs

looking through the peep-show glass
pretending to see the sea
from the road already
why are we god why are we
now

forming Africa-paced caravans
to caravan us unwillingly
even further along
on angel-blown sadistic
wailers injustice
towards happily married
flip-top
gangbang
funerals

letting all of our organs bleed 
souls whisper black&blue
furious waves
in hope of a moonshine-driven
return...
well are we so, well are we
now

Firework man's recollections

been a firework man
for as long
as I can remember
trouble is
there'll be no more such intense
mindfuck
New Years
like o-fuckin'-six in the gutter
devastating booze shops
whisky megamarkets
pissing off
bourgeois restaurants
waitresses resistful
pouring bohemian vendettas
at every goddamn
yuppie
screaming out our doubts
into star deaf perimeter
red hissing sky confessions

four years of vagabond vacancy
via absolute
freedom
gypsy stone magic
thin methedrine dukes
in bum vomit districts
kickin' the bad gong
buskin' at every goddamn corner
dime after dime after dime
till the song ran out
of tune
or time

kept no records
of this sacred lunatic life...

now what's there in the mirror?
cheap paper eunuch
feeling broken-down fifties
inside
shades over eyes
just in case

where is the firework
where is the sweetest
bum manifesto?

waiting 'til I'm history
history needs no
excuses

Trip #8

How many substances can alter
your very next evening
& make it feel like a desert stop
unpredicted
a Jesus car-wreck
predestined
valleyball w/ sharks
in the wrecked hotel room's middle...
the carousel madness unveiled
hashishin's journey come-true
all goods plantator's bookstore
& new death religions

smile:
enjoy your teeth
make it seem like good scenario
landscapes
for those fortunate dogs
stormcloud-clothed
whipped and shaken
mustache wearing bastards
who did run like mad
into the jimmy-jam folding
of the dissonance glass
outta the stripclub murder nightmare
into mademoiselle's mescaline
territorial sacrum...

why this damned 4am
again...

why the tango always starts
when all the whisky's gone
& chicks left home
to watch some Fellini
alone & perfected
banging detuned pianos
all nite long
in pure
vaginal
monopoly

Blank awakening

When I awake
I firstly choose one blank piece
of paper
one Tarot cardset
one piece of musical
notation
possibly Russian
streetsongs
carefully rolleying them
putting my fingers
in exploratory
action
invading my bone-mandala
w/ pretty morning serenade
sunsets
avoidable

choose a book to cut through
choose a matter
to improve
deconstruct
reinvent
choose a book to read backwards
awfully simple

joyfully
I freely explore this holiness
of my awakening
these possibilities
which open
through these simple devices
& the sticky washy end
of causeeffecting
effectiveness

I know I am know holy

& the very moment eyes open
legs furiously kick into the air
arms begin their shakedance
the blank piece of paper's ready
to be overwritten
over and over and over
effectiveness
matters

Typewriter logic

these grumpy restrained & perfectly trained
nicotine-stained blue fingers
have just gained access
to, fro and beyond
my professional
typewriter's
cunt vortex

telepathically offered her magma
carefully word-constructed
grown into her
blown into her
painfully stacked
gathered under broken
& wrongly marked
letters

must exterminate her:
she keeps rejectingly
offering me
collages of
same old black stuff on white meat
collages that, as she claims
extend my ego
nail my soul to a PURPOSE
which, as she claims
is the all-fruit of her typewriting
artkunst:
for a magical fact
she takes me real fast

I've become badly addicted:
can't cope w/
typewriter's
thick brown coce-like juices
anymore:
she found my
mainline
she'll use me as she sees
fitflirt
getting rid of her
would be now all-impossible:

typewriters are bad for your health
and pump up enormously
the volume
of your death risk
factor...

My medicine

one rational-sized quality
Unfolding New Metropolis
margaritaflavored
pill
fragile architecture's f-words
paved
starving
marvels
scratched on its go-go
thick dancer
surface

seventy-seven tolls
of the death bell
in fluid shaped glasses
kaleidoscope

all identical cube shaped houses
bricks
of the cosmic curtain
wall
peoplecans
perfected to the very
zero
limit

all identical hominoids
solitary mindspoof
projections
JHVH's sugarcube
eyelid

spoons on littered streets
heavenly incorporated
dramas
battery driven
&
wingless

2nd hand mentality

There...
there is the pin
glory center
of my 2nd hand mentality
there is the reason
why I run through the cheapest shelves...
obscure book collecting
fueled by fire Nijinsky idiot
bringing home
all the ugliest wordscalps
choosing the worst possible
authors
you can think of...
stopping Kali-sheltered eyes on cheap
how-to's
why-not's
& still sacred poets
of the underrated mire:
all Frenchmen, all keen on the devil
one brainscrewed
German screenwriter...

there: see all those S&M
saloons
visits... drop from these pages
like honeymoon dancers

there...
there is the pin
on reading
the Fountain of Hyacinth
hallways alit in candles
& brewery sparkled
in clear Cracow
spray verse

there...
there is this 2nd hand feeling again:
her dress didn't come
from a store
you might've
heard of...
the girl herself
don't come from starshine areas
other than
cheap brocade
star-alike dots
in the 2nd hand's entrance
window

I can't

god
if I could measure all those shit hotels
with a proper
white shaman's stick
show'em to angels who taught me
measures...

make'em burn like copper
shine like red light passages
of Amsterdam's
holographic spleen
make'em rooms my midnite friend snacks
love shacks
make'em maids
experimental thrown-in-the-coin-an-forget
machines
infinite positions
skin fluxus
hair on eyes
junkie on junkie

all fresh and shining
in tired grit bluesmen
harmonica's blurred existence
state of mind
perfectly hollow bleeding
karma
dried off completely
change my home and pants
and walk and talk
and booze
and women

god
if I could measure my how-does-it-feels-at-midnite
good ole Hank would blush in his
loneliness
& the lord
would've started drinking
all before world's end

some of my people
might be dead
by now...

god
if I only had one chance
to measure them right
'fore the fade-outs they all planned
so gently...

Absinthe summer

come done gone
w/ not cards left to play
been enjoying
my private absinthe summer
for 7 years now
woke up
still young
yellow-sweated green-faced
doing the asylum polka
fairy boy
wings cropped to sizes
proper for this country's
reaction
shoes all wet
in cat's wrath ruin
no woman to love
no good blues
to turn onto

thrown precisely to the left
side of the border
dead in a pool of horse piss
bloodrain of hopeless hobo's
sinful escapades

oh but my spirit cries still
looking eagerly like never
towards
Americana badlands
savage evil pilgrimages
pioneer primal howls
country
open air hermitage

still can sense some LA trails
in my hometown's
factory dumped
air...

Merde

Kitsch aboriginal supermarket masks
kitsch gasstation African drums
webbed in bubblegum white sitars
toyflutes coming straight from Katmandu
Manufactory inc.
bearing all those petite faults of being
really made
in Tibet-strangling China
halls

newspapers in new poorsick languages
of the doublethroated propaganda pigs
pseudodutch beer cheaper than
a box of matches sold in sixpacks
from under the dirtbag counter
Gravity's Rainbow groupwork amalgamate
given away for free
at the supermarket gig of resurrected
Jambalaya Williams android
Hindu love god pearls imitation
vibrators
bluescovers on tapes by less-than-able
polish white seriously lost boys
who bought their Hungarian guitars
at the price of one apple
somewhere in Prague
while chasing her bridging werewolves

that's what we've come to
after thousands of years
of mindblock
corrosively wondrous
as this global value of art
becomes more and more dreary
Leary
mumbojumbos
despite all these
utopian new villages
charms
& freedoms

Alright

Why always be the ones who lose
the ones who crave but cannot choose
the ones to sing out
godforsaken
revolutionary French tunes
to the ever echoing yet hollow sky...

the ones to change things
unwantingly

why choose red flags
black flags
uniforms and slogans
white Chink sellers of hash
green killer pills
nafta
tanks of thick skullbone control
eyeballs of peripheral
signals

why permutate Guevara

why not wear our own faces
no matter
if marginal
in the ever gliding panorama
parades of the giants

ever confronting fashions
rocks and folks
debates on midnite news endless

I love my ant suit better

why choose to crave or crave to choose
or live to permanently lose
what's obvious...

there:
nothing is ours so nothing
can be lost
alright

Debasement

Oh the sweet art of debasement:
to breathe the very same air
cockroaches inhale
& to sleep w/ their
decadence debris
under roaring
refrigerator's
heaven...

to lie under Eiffel Tower
& any Parisian sidewalk I'll find
effective
to radiate
with Madame Bleu
and her boys of reddening twilights:
the pursuer of noir city magic...

to throw my guts into the coin-box
spiting out verses at random
faceless landscapes throwing moons and
sunrays
and everyrays
between
for her harvest moon pleasure
where words are but ornaments
for
penetrating spirits

to crystallize the draperies of nite
saxes
wailing dead dramatists hoaxes
post meridien...

or to hear once again
the marked young man's confessions
send-up

sending you up and sending me down
shade-toxic bluntness:
must learn the fine art of debasement
to become
angels
not meat&bone&gut bags
or madmen dancing w/ fireworks
straw-men
with eyes wild on
panic buttons...

to find an escape
from escaping...

Ghosts of the miners

we, the Solar System renegades
we, the underpaid dogs of shark's fin soup
we, the in-crowd connoisseurs of awareness
we, the undemanding notes on chimney tops
writing in smoke
and water only
for fire is too hot to witness
and smoke can resist them all...

we, who come on patchy wings
of hyenas
piranha sailors on dead feet
like sculptures...

living on air and catfood promises
in the morning
we, the holders of hollow fibre ghosts
we, the white Indian partisans
of rhythm...
we, the narcissistic haters of
nihilistic manners
ambassadors of well-mannered old-fashioned
word-riddlers
martini drinkers
book-swallowers, sword-shapers
albino deconstructors

we, the sunlight over Monte Alban
in a greener kind of blue
than
ever by human imagined...
ghosts of the miners on turntable
patios
black velvet verandas
the day watch of deadly compromises...

we, the syllabic punch bowls
empty taxis at 3am
we, the drinker inside