"Ghost of Dusk in a Pastel Shell" (for Lou Reed).

w/ a hint of melody, pinia, delicate torture: A
Am Am7 A7
descending; mirror ghost of kings
slits the green line
park; duke
of plastic airdrops.
tutors, lambs and highways
drift the saddest Sunday
on the way to school
oceans shambles
I’m sipping gin receiving news
tears stop on the shelf
filled w/ Lou’s records & French poetry
love’s face, crossed in a punk fashion
looks up
to the rain of tomorrow.
I bought you cheap, she thinks to herself
& w/ soap under her nails
she starts writing
the great american romance
w/o the dead narrator
piano shyly lays down
the chords & structure of twisted
moans and mourns of a twilight
once crossed on a NY reel
of villains, pale subjects
to salvation; not escaping this time, sifting
w/ the uptown stink
demands the town to curl
like a wounded cat
in the back seat of a Chrysler.

take one, puffing smoke into the mic; sprachgesang
of insects. hard heavy breath, eliminated
suturing milk and sunrise
into quality chrome
& ash – suddenly stripped like a graveyard –
of giant city skyline
inbred, brave – preset to life
inlay of skull & marching soldiers
on white/grey dots in print
comb bind w/ logic
death merely passing – streets – face – root beer
& junk nirvana for Joey
I guess I lost it
this Sunday, ghosts of empty dusks
crown my idiot self fish
morphing to heavenly hearth
one w/ the raven angel
& I can’t make love to you today
no, not in chains
of fury’s disciplined winter
death cold Germanic
away from forms of speech
over gut guitar of Jesus
strumming that heroin pattern
all through the desolate mourning
sleepless choirs of snowflakes.
which words were yours, heard in the backseat
alley, unspeakable hurt
humiliation – there is no succumb but your ego –
demon seed of subways
pushing junk on same corners
back to 1980s, crackheads, models, art scene
recalling the hum of blues
from every train passing
& every river flowing; dirty sunshine…
…now variable, pregnant, important
words which were mine
belong to her; the romance
she’s writing now, the child she wants to raise
the street she wants to walk
without sad songs & 3 euro breakfasts
with whom? without.
once the hero’s gone
once the plot loosens
in the bright light thick solid wall
you’ll crash your brains
on piercing whiteness
thinking it’s too late
receiving a call from your teenage mother
you’ll realize
you’ve reached the side of angels
time to join them, & her, in sickening warmth
lose the conscious dictator drill
w/ a bang enter the realm of fury breeding art
in a pastel relic shell

"Late Sketches of Arthur"

"the poet is truly a thief of fire."
isolate
scrutinize
introduce
bring out
over the years you’ll learn this & a few
other
most necessary things.
seated work is terrible
agony on hot days.
military figure sustains
the heavens.
expert says - good vintage, truly
delicious.
you need to meet him
in order not to perish
in this fickle industry.
circumcision’s bureaucracy.
the candidate sniper opens the window with a bang – no-good - bad, bad ...
people are the determinant of region, remember:
scrutinize.
thought is like milk
poured into coffee. & you're the coffee.
you won’t recognize yourself on the street, archer.
the tabloids won’t tell you:
"citizen R. was killed last night in a particularly brutal way. Well, the perpetrators... "
"Mrs. R. gave birth to her sixth child & is feeling well..."
have you burned the pictures?
give me the ashes, now - white plate & something to wash it down.
I missed the tram.

"French Wildcat"

She stands there waiting, skyscraper heels
A shot of glamor from her lips
She knows who she is

She smokes a bright and thick cigar
From the back of a rock’n’roll car
And it’s a single kiss
To end up drained and then deceased
Between the sheets

And in the rain she sings the tune
Of vacuum cities
Passing by on trains with lovers once so far to reach
Now laying at her feet
Just like the world
She never leaves her soul
Unreleased

I trip the dark room once again, proving time exists
In the caverns of her touch
And curtains of bliss

Psychedelic nocturne shots from brocade hips
Green and yellow perturbation
Lives beyond her lids
Singer of the unreleased
Lady of the Paris streets

Wildcat
French wildcat
Drooling cheap boys
On the market
Pin-up starlet
Dark eyed model
Lenient driver
Curly lover

Where’s the world of dreams
Where’s the teenage screams
Where’s the silk screen thrills
Where’s the golden films