10 new poems. Nightmarish German Ages collide with primal rhythms while a sharp-toothed Antiquewhite second-hand Berlin mädchen plays with her Kiwi eyelids, summer passes, the jokers wait outside, and we all continue the search for Ray Charles’ America.
ANTIQUEWHITE RAIN by A. J. Kaufmann…it’s exactly what you think it is, except higher proof and higher velocity.
(Bill Shute, Kendra Steiner Editions, 2009)
Deepen the distance
storming culpable American bars & cafes
bride & curse of midnight boogie guitars
singing out life in whispered lo-fi spasms
highways of ready-made boys in her scarf
stage imminent angel-hawker
in silken runaround alphabet hands
waves of deafening staccato
loser/poet eulogies
sleeping long in the wintertime, under her hat
longer in the summer, even, in her umbrella
butterflies do this, she said – they also cry out, habitually
when they write my new set of lyrics
often when the burgundy lightbulbs dim
all unimportant lights exit stage
& songs projected on ego screens
manner & deepen the distance we shared
you lowdown poky apostle
German ages
phone booth hands calling the wolves at sunset
musician beggars stumbling melted
proud electric ghosts of their movement
puzzle boxes & honey angels stuffed inside together
breathing in the insane olden room
glass top coffin gold-flakes
cracked antique cuckoo clocks
tropical underground rivers covering champagne deserts
mints, Zippos, dehypnotized drag queens
U-bahn tickets & cardboard saviors
snakeskin jackets, crocodile shoes
invaluable relics of all German ages
Chicks left home
typewriter’s white meat
I’m black
chicks left home
boring death plateau
to watch some Fellini
wax-tax faces
Summer snow
banging cracked pianos
all nite long
in pure
vaginal
monopoly
Thingless (Antiquewhite rain)
mirror of moon
who are you when thingless...
a poor sharp-teethed Berlin girl
stark red whisky
hole-in-the-sky bone cold motel
some kind of von Stuck
anorectic Dietrich incarnation
le "Milord"
four bare walls of redemption
blunt ventilated horizon
carousel madness unveiled
Hashishin's journey come-true
G-d’s secret bookstore
footsteps on fog
coats on invisible hooks
warm Americana sound
or antiquewhite rain
Mallorca
still hanging round those one-minute beatniks
making love for an hour or so
blowing their out of tune saxes
feeding you random lines on affection
dreaming of perfect confusion
where skins & woods birds dive
sketching your ideal graffiti on water
expensive hot Spaniards
serving rare breakfasts
in the last year’s 50 mark sun
African paintings sleep
baby oceans breathe
swarming china poems
in white beach sands
under the second hand surface
Longest cigarette ever
smog black tangerine ghosts
fashion her European breast
play with kiwi eyelids
redhead moons
corridor voices smooth talk
entered moonshine apartment
jokers waited outside
creeping up gelatin cobwebs
audience broke all the ice
accustomed to rotten blues
bored artistically speaking
spitting out pieces of lungs
waiting the longest
cigarette
ever
Every heart a house in your city
one-way burning windows
trapped in laces of gold
time flying secretly by
bopping up and down
Cage wake fingers play
outlaw numbers shown
drunken above as below
fate in curtains
thieves of fortune
liberty natures
silent pianos
nightingales caliber
lyre fools
worms
kraut wine
& divas:
every heart a house in your city
Second hand girl
kneeling my latest human beauty
they sketch the Wherein
from pencil soul
resurrection’s light
blessing her
where lilies wander
prayer kiss stands
ancient vision
jasmine virgin
Madonna face in a bar-sale mirror
where the breaking meets divine
my lovely
second hand girl
Draw palms
remembering SF scene
John Wayne films
Johnny Cash songs
X-Ray cowboys
American postcards
rock’n’roll drummers
gather in the murky green toilet
of Hotel California
a hotel which quietly
stereo-types life
draws palms in your younger eyes
paints dusk in your younger hair
& then we can dance to Ray Charles’
America
wonderful
hurt
One rhythm
the way of rock’n’roll
is such a boring one
decadent tones crashing used cars
rust proceeds to form rainbows
incessant eyes never close
we’re watching over
cold zones of world
hot zones of world
there ain’t no choice
we’re golden
notes transposed from G-d
in self-made tools
of chaotic
despair
Signs
speaking of signs
she found a warm room
dug in
made dinner
moved her rusted arm
kissed the crystal
sugar cube
floor
took off my hat
filmed the humor
of outside worlds
phoned mother
sketched Alexander the Great
found a smoke signal
highway
repainted her VW pink
made green tea
opened up all windows
let in
the American
cool
spoke to her favorite rivers
played cut-up
with night
over a simple 4/4
rhythm
thought of inertia
sadness of leaves
Summer passing
unborn children
while I walked around the room
tempted
by the sun
Forbidden games
a nameless little girl selling roses “Under the Angel”
drunk on Cassandra
reminds of Berlin
streets of no importance
slum city jungles
fields of death
prostitute fingers
vacant airports
secret airplanes
winding lanterns
cannibal dogs
Mayan hearses
she moves on into corroding weathers
letting her roses
dance with the candles of dawn
leaving me at my table
writing a song for Betty
the one I can’t finish
for seven years now
waiter brings ’54
Californian
wine
I wait for my favorite whore
while dawn naked travelers
proceed to burn their belongings
sing anthems of freedom
lynch G-d
playing
forbidden
games
Forget the whole
It’s not your time
not your alley
not the night
made of ice
it’s not the husband
not the chair
not the day
out of plastic
melting faces increase
take your pills
not your confusion
forget the whole
Peripheral children
children wake up too
it’s unbelievably hot
city cracks open
we’re singing songs
lulling us back to sleep
airy weeds
creep up little noses
can’t breathe
burning squares & steppes
children wake up
to the peripheral trauma
of birth
old man sits on my stairs
every day
is born out of
his
perfect
desolation
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