neon signs-is
not their night
not so much
eternal cafes-not
at all
blaze hot light
cheap women-not
easy to
find
if you don't know
the exact
address
of fury
from vending machines
cigarettes glassy
emerges, a slimy
palm, claw actually
& a pack of Marlboro
people-smoke to
think monsters-all
we buried her
to-fifths
Lunch God
portrait, in twenty-one variations
doggerel image
saved-the same words
limited vocabulary
too little energy to pick out
fish, too little inspiration to create
the metaphor, there are too many reasoned
ready, not validating, open the
dictionaries
& wade in what's vulgar
learning that simple language
ridiculous!
subliminal fishermen
still get the same bones
in the meantime, kefir time + scavengers in leaded petrol
lunched with the body
of God
September 2008
me at fifteen
me at hundred again
heaps of has
did
gone mad, steady
city voice wiped free
new flat
new car
television face
her holy
initials
bagful of no
words
non-feathered cowards
left out
both persons mistaken
for drifting
me at birth
me at death
just words
breathing fleshless
feet up
coating years
in difference rippled
between
I died in Berlin
September 2008
Good Luck
uncomfortable questions
heard three streets away/or on the phone
inspire me to eat
at a small, cozy
Italian pizzeria, where immediately
I was offered a job -
wiping tables, serving pizza
with millions of unfinished
songs above my head, with the prospect of work
for vain brand for many long
years, but I always liked Italians, so
I accepted the deal
turned out the joint was guise
for local Mafia
I've always had good luck
Modern Trains
steel blood poured on the platform
elegant girl bounces
terrified-crowd coughs w/ laughter
it's just a "Yester" train , I whisper
taking away the ghosts from the deck
I also laugh, but w/ a drool of
mechanical croaking frogs
oh, it is not known
in the country from which I come
to our blood poured earlier
it's no shock
just
modern trains
Caterpillar Mountains
I should write about mountains
challenges, expeditions
not about loneliness of antennas in spike
chrome dusk, however, am disputing
w/ them often, and it obliges a...
cut open
scene
filth
...not easy to change your profession
storm CAT
caps & feel repulsion
in the night-abyss cinema
death draws more than
the sky
in the morning such as the...
wait!
I do not even want to be *dreaming* about
mountains
careful,
being mindful
not to write
Pulse Berlin
pulse
Berlin
curse
or swim
song or storm
or lady
must listen to
Lakomy
bury me later
Slave Shore Blues
a slave site, don't despair-done
your skull, kick start the last candle
today, the first night of the lone vigils
we set up the African guards
reels under your window
& tales of Satan in the basement
go graciously after bike
drive off in Kreuzberg torch
Chuck Berry kneeling
at the top of an empty church
we listened to him often this winter
snow fell when sirens sounded sirens
then it was too late to
form
reflections from the shore
Cloud Dictatorship
before someone puts out
another
monument
let us remember,
it's just newspaper
clippings
milk horses
pushing carriages &
late light bulbs
reach in the end for the purpose of
Marxist monks
intently watching
gas murder
that's setting their robes
on water
is that worth all this
chaos worth all
that peace, swim
in, be in?
keep in mind, is it not better
to honor the cloud?
today's monument
tomorrow's insult
today's freedom
tomorrow's dictatorship
Limit Is Now
I'm so burnt out, said the young man
arched in pancake keyholes
of onpouring orgasm
oh brave yesteryear's cricket!
notebooks w/out explanations
coffins w/out
burial
market me now
P.R. Me
mail me
Waldo – limit is
NOW
People Of The East
U-bahn
S-bahn
tram
linear meeting
empty seats
clerical tonnes
loose
semantically
discussion
the roots of rock'n ' roll
anonymous Black man "you
want to twist?"
syncopated keys birds
Swans frosted
dark heavy beer
light heart donors
houses without flaws, these open forever, smeared
w/ camels' blood, narcotic visions
of the people
of the East
River Flare Receiver
My coat (a)musing-what remains
in this body, which
wrote off the pen
what hasn't been discovered
in the after math
shambles of the century
who climbed to the top of the smartest
threw angel
danger muddle
gutter
idolized ghosts
Berlin's shortcomings, thought politicians
took pride in the winding-
up of the flea
Communist construction
and in the Palace - still - blaring music, crumb power
throws a flare on the river
si,
tar
Mime Mime
MIMe launches performance
& the onstilts dancers
rave
on the other side-someone puts
sculpture, another visionary
deconstructs the wasteland
what a threadbare slogan-in
nothing is empty, everything's back to the form
obey her tramps explored step
by step & bards
I make songs in humble
quadruplets, classic European
rhythms, rhymes greedimperious
few years earlier, roll virus isolation
by understreet secret rooms
contagious answering machines
& eternal rush of feathers of all
I scored
until the death of his death
amen
Thank You, Sexy
a couple of lives / 1 day ago
she said
"your poems are nothing"
& what should they be?
what's happening now,
what's special?
are kings and heroes born?
what topic does not go
well
with faint/fastest screens
news
papers?
so if yours "are nothing"
already means "pulse of existence"
then thank you for the
compliment,
sexy
No Sonnets, Thank You
cloud, o cloud - where today will
you
carry
my body? yesterday
I was with your
drift womb
it could accept an
apology
I stayed for a week
not finished the promised
line, anyway
I never wrote sonnets
a sleazy excuse
I know
the roof, the roof is where
today I'll dive in bio-
dump & who would lend a warm
jacket, I could get drunk
in Berlin
Görlitzer Park
too much, I want to say it in one
row
the Moon, the Moon, take
my shadow
home
and make it
good tea
We Like It
as if I didn't know who
angered his
hair, the
surer I am who rode the u-bahn
I, what I, in the opposite direction
asking uncomfortable questions
to assigned conductors
I am yesterday's-gazingly, groan in the blank
eyes of a woman in designer suit
listening to Gypsy
musicians -
- in Irish repertoire
& my time was up
I feel sorry for the young man
whose time has not yet started
cut shaving & trickles of blood
still hang on the chin
Sofa Hippie
you used all the bodies, love
walked
all bridges
scratched all stars
& what's down there in your hand? could it be the
continents
changed course? god bless the world
squandered
love? why else would you stand
buy irons
work shops
flee from eyes
seeking the place
of next conquest?
if I -had it- I would want this tasty morsel
you squandered
& would have to fall dead
what kind of monster would like to still-energy
power, possession
& yet his name was Hippie
so naked & innocent/48v in motorbike rim -
a sofa.
Paid Crap
When only routine knocks
to the licorice door, & threadbare
idiom mills eyes yesterday's
cigarette, it is time to
retire
maybe for a couple
years, forget about existence
of & "being
yourself" - a horrendously amateur
job, so that filling it
digests phlegm dawn
to yesterday's womb
Today - just pavement were a homeless bum
becomes a bassist & fires
flame funk machines
from that moment on
I count on anything - I'll give him
your business card – I hope
he drops by to the
studio
News from the City
irrelevant bord
ers industrial walls
eaux
ankle square cubics woodcut
ters, steerless s
hips
tamine
graves & kebab, Arcanoa & pipes, bells
the empty church — comes at mid
night
watch
dumb gu
y,
tter,
disembodied laster
sits in my rocking chair
fires my grandpa's
pipe
oh, I am surprised the "hash?", yes, I am
and today we'll talk?
starts heartbeat, pushes the pipe, smoke gushes from his
hat, "I bring news from the city"
Colleagues
I dropped the busker brand, I would love to be him
be 50 again
I was, however, much older, & the young man sighed
again
„I'm a loser-boy, boy”
I don't have a script of life
by nature – it is not a matter of years, or burnout, but
look at me, 500y/o carrion
that still smells
of
dawn perfume
& never has enough
of
informed, legitimate
kicks in the back
from older, compliant
colleagues.
