"I-Gospel" (New poem, 2021/10/30)

Have you heard about the I-gospel?
delete it quickly
if you spot it around
it will break your cosmic neck
and smoke your earthly eyes
in a pipe of confused horror

spread
angel-headed sutras for the weak
astral precision of birds
hesitate the guest
invisible wings
engaged the hand and turned it to lies

there is no buffer to this nonsense
of
moon atmosphere
or happy tripping landings
in a GDR reality
back in the 60s
golden era of go-go boots

be-in
sound of a primal instrument is at your be-brain
smothering soul shaking cities
escape the vistas
you don't need them
poisons of post-tribal eruption
hesitation
successful

yes
time is on your side
but only if you make the clock cry
with your occupiedness
of spirit

dance
the radio-active wasteland
with your girl
until she says it's ready
for realization
of birth

and if your time is ripe
snap it for replacement of senses
and swirl
with the current
of leaves
fading

"Tibet" (New poem, 2021/10/30)

Pour me a round of applause
I need it to survive
let it be petrol heavy
like NY skies in 1964, when I first recorded tapes
with my wife

name and distances and trips in time continue
but nothing and no one
is really mine
so let it be accepted

cloudshake with my friends
they're thunder in dream weaponry
shuts off system
destroys the white man's lunacy
of compromise
and submission

sugar sweet embryo
climbing the walls of Eden
stark in the purchase of dream
lucid wanderer by choice
path downtrodden in distant
cherry blows of wind

there is no nuclear shadow
there is no home to return to
there is no day to lift curtains of for the children

in my ears death music
Tibetan ritual chimes
echoed through skulls of animals
found in the pyramid in the mountains
rolls

roll on, I scream
with the lurid feast of the mountain octopus
skulless
she was a starship
seed of time
panicana

now
I have escaped the fury of life
living silent outside of the box
suitcase of postcards
vacant hill in my brain

I am now silent and precious
my body has left the realm

"Peace Math"

Sweet black lips of fire
Cooled in mountain breeze
She's a satin seeker
Child of summer trees

And there is a world beside it
And there is a path – go find it

We are all dreams she dreams once
And forgets
We are all time that's running out
When she regrets
Being born to this path
Being born to this world
It's math

Vast blue skies of pleasure
Sunrise pure of pain
To unaccustomed eyes
To streets of summer rain

And there is a dream beside it
And there is still time – go find it

We are all tears she collects
We are all pearls she neglects
We are all rejects of string
On continental winds
Time to get rid of words
Time to get rid of ideas
It's peace

"Georgians from Utopia" (New poem, 2021/10/28)

I'm an endless jazz reel of trumpets
blunt orchestra of hope
flowers for my punk girl
drawing birds on excellent walls – graffiti headed angels
we are bones and skin trapped forever
in our father's trails of blood
can't sing?
Scream!
You'll feel healthier doing the somersault for Annie
she's god
she never wanted different

I'm an endless jazz reel of trumpets
moniker of excuses, a morning fiesta
candid camera freakshow
lo-fi beard for my dog
dead corn in the valley
glowing frozen in barb wire
pass winter
we are sidetorn and irrelevant
black and dire
we climb the endless horizon
but she's god
Annie's god
I said she's god
and there's nothing beside it

We read from Bibles
write poetry in our calendars
check out the Solar System
go and jam all night with the Georgians from utopia

they never left this planet
and the psychedelic radio
from another dimension
shows flashes of recent reels
my solos not included
I only climb the morning with Annie
she's pleasant
she's fashion
but this I've told you before
and, brother
we can only hope for a great Sun Ra reunion
in the universe

we'll all be baked and psychotic
and wasted and stoned and pretty
and tight fitted and jamming
all night
with the Georgians from utopia

"Alien Totems at Daybreak" (New poem, 2021/10/28)

Curious script on the willow
sun through the open window
her eyes among the family photographs

there's something unsettling in the way she breathes
listening to Italian noise
all through the night

there are sermons from utopia
gift cards from the broken
amazed archetypes of worry

why were we leaving this soon
the plateau seemed endless
and wrapped in starlit clouds hovering mindless and pensive
why were we dancing this lunatic
the madman across the waters
the old scratched LP
of some coffee shop songwriter
from the 60s

am I somehow worried
about the current of my art
and song flowing seamlessly but borderlessly
across the numb universe

are we puzzled by the same demos
reels of fractured soul
traps of imminent arrival
shores of ancient puzzle
puzzled
are we indeed

we think often of the backsides
roads never taken
roads taken too often
illusive matter over mind
mind in restless breeze of the alien sun

we are sad
there is no glory here

so are you somehow trapped my friend
in your 20th century clothes
you look bop idiotic
there's no room for mirrors
hand me that knife
and let the border do the talking
tents were erected at dawn
alien totems at daybreak

"Mills of Karma" (New poem, 2021/10/28)

There's a story I once heard
about a man climbing buildings
for fun
not a professional
just a hero
why was he dressed like that
stark naked except for a superhero cap
on top of Mount High Rise
he was a prophet in the old days
choosing valleys and lowlands
his new hobby
made him feel the bone
stuck firmly in his throat
acid god of death doves

there's a story he once heard
about a man writing poems
for fun
not a professional
just a writer
why was he distracted by the ghosts of sculpted dusk
and jazz songs on the radio
he was a prophet, too
but those days are long gone
on top of Mount High Rise
they met
both high as fuck on juices of life
lead and petrol and vodka
scum marijuana chicks

why were they both women in this new tale
is unsure even to me
the sculptor who's trying to make his own
Mills of Karma
in the meadow
below our heroes
pedestals for their egos
egos for their debt
and debt of death and birth in the lowlands

we only dream of low
we are free in dreams only
like Lee Hazlewood once said
and journalists are mad horses
give them too much bread
and they choke
give them fire and they beg for a pool
in the Mills of Karma
never constructed
high on the Mount of devastation

"Abandon" (New poem, 2021/10/28)

Absurd game of chess
illiterate sports fan in the corridor
someone's talking the hep jive again
cool it down I say
there's no need to exist
we can all dream a while in our machines
exhausted but free
tormented but elaborate
exit the corridor
leave sports transmissions behind

there is an urge in every person
a person in every coffee
a coffee for every tree
the ones we climb on jazz wings
polka dot slash
coma morning

we are what we breed to be – but there's no need
to vanish
we vanished when we were born
to this funfair of an echo
of something called world
resting on creamy valves of dawn
archangels and madmen
calling and responding

in these situations
the only will is good
and the only good is abandon
abandon me
abandon you
abandon this and that
we are schooled well in this art
if any art is available
use it as weapons
against calmness
against the creamy balm of forgetfulness
abandon
but not if you were before
hurry
there's no need to exist
but some are stripped to bones
inhaling A-bomb air
and maybe they need comfort

shrieks of pain through the skull naked sky
abandon, abandon
the only absurd game of chess
available in this season