"Beggar’s Past"

I ask of you no charity, it’s just a beggar’s world
Everyone is ragged here, everything is old
All you do is walk around hoping I’ll be gone
All I do is kick my crutch asking you for alms
And you give me all I want
And you answer all I ask
And I ask of you no charity
I’d only like to, love to, long to
Retake my past

Gypsy king of summers gone promised me a ring
Changing fury into verse, songs I cannot sing
Shouted loud against the sky, lucky as can be
All I have to do without is carry wayward free
And you give me all I want
And you answer all I ask
Gypsy king of summers gone
I’d only like to, love to, long to
Retake my past

I left, I never married, the girl was moving fast
Faster than a cannonball, bitter, headed West
All she did was turn my blood into blackened soil
All I did was turn around fastening my coat
And you give me all I want
And you answer all I ask
See, I left, I never married
I’d only like to, love to, long to
Retake my past

"Cut-Up 2010", full poetry chapbook.

Devil-Killer

Use time, we apologized
the dazzling, coming face
inside the guts
operation
the big crackling roar
oxygen next
miniature sands date
metal refineries
ring capacitors
boomed at the surface
hamburger orbits
hoarse nerve
of the devil-killer
automatic
lust

Hitchhike the stars

soft fluorescent
space-fitness
on truck, clothes, much stuff
sentient over repainted
patches
wistful, in hope
you’re there, here…
I’ll be a watch… the cat light
talk waved
keep diving
ground-to-orbit-joint
absence, eyes, thoughts –
including me –
we hitchhike the stars

Engines

engines
flung
half-fused hurt
solar urge
Latin spaceman, pennies
instrument days, calmer, out
commercial side up
another natural blackout
fingers and shoulders, supposed
to join
finished
planning the fix
swaggered sunlight drives
sweating softly
some music workbench

Weekday naiveté

Weekday
pictures of the first dollars sun
bearings, moon
numbers that tower
going gallery out
slim heavily-loaded
official wild burn
griping-arguing-and-planning
two canvas-covered
himself
white
the atmosphere
flamed and unlucky
impersonal first
naiveté

Plum-full nightmares

I’d free millions upper left-hand and walls
perfect exhaled organ
backroom, what difference and blastoff
the darkness soothed
smirked lighted sorrow
eyes with the greys
part but numb
grimly sweaty phone
you drifted price and minds
ludicrous juncture
swamped sorry
plum-full nightmares

Good sky

a ride of velocity over a dreaminess too long of already
questions skipped hurrying the hall
as draped over magic piano
still sepia hands, hot space
gravity fingers
minds swaggered, fortunate  thick
gone with the moonlight
white metallic
part-time compartments
stuff feral boxes
waved musing addresses
legal acid and music
strange silicone vacuum
kinetic instruments fail
troubled black sky!
good sky!

Thin eighteen

thin eighteen
wanted far
asked the beauty much
ached dispersal
considering biting hard
the elevator hand
squeak spare out
sure country
air-flasks
laughed
minus candy
wound to ceiling
blastoff fall-sick
side-kick

Coveralls

only growl lightweights
count habits
small pools
call boys
returned drums
waxy touching
cloud little flowers
feminine hissed electronics
haunting suspicions of muscles
slipped peculiar yell
vegetation
think gravity in weightlessness
down in showing rags
no extra coveralls

Pepsi Earth

horizontal fragments of adventure
sour milk
urged blue
wood-and-fabric millions
distant harmonicas
somebody’s art
backroom
change, the fragile seed of space
sister of substance
brightening capsule
concessions the rare
simple vapor
moments
re-breathing omission and breeze
the planet grows boots
on little couples
tinted iconic
gasping the molecular night
dryly nuclear Moon
junk Pepsi Earth

The Shine

reproduction fails
to blown dog air
faces bend to the sound
of somber floors
timidly cold
where the wandering corpses go
to anything incredible
in ears of glacier wounds
between the possible
and salvation
night trials lost
blacken the flame
giant’s jawbone
longing upon the shine

Great bicycles on river wheels

you are the sunshine, in duty town
carts wriggle
dark aureoles bark
at rain-storms in the mine
lips outlast the strip blaze
this is theater-time
sudden in rays
of spattered moths
the wind’s steeple
offers a ceiling
to gloom
harsh deaf pools
in gleaming dullness
great bicycles
on river wheels

Orion dusk and more

The body experiments
rustling the beauty of not
breaking myself
falling to solitude gods
petal hostility
the strewed before the blossom
roll my hymn-books
and secrecy
sitting in Orion dusk
the lady-red
first wings
sparkles lines, ripples
relentless
she of the all
broken hills of dead
crying their walk
tripping
to a stranger night
watching between the frost
and a candle
pavement sheets of voices
lilies in disguise
breathless harbors
afraid of you
young and confusing

My Piano

seeking love
from bohemian balconies
smoke stale wood
in twisted meadows
moving in time
w/ half-crumbling faces
of lovers
morning gargoyles
the bed palace church,
my piano quivers on
young leaves tremble atop
uproar the stars
bathe in corn
corpses in matchbox
gaunt earth fears them
while you and me weave vision
from flower flanks and see
some scales vibrate
some dancers sun-drenched

Gramophone

Full naked brooks
faint in your distance
empty étagère
masts which float on darkness
clattering fools
hovering, passing smoothly
proudly undressed
their open spirals
the brittle few
bold fire thieves
freeze in flight
frail color from tears
with goggle shapes
thru hesitating vengeance
before dry forests
trees like a giant gramophone

"Cappuccino Coincidence"

Oh what a strange occupation
In my favorite cafe, late at night
I sat alone in the corner
At my favorite table writing poems again
Feeling not so right
And then a someone sat by my side
A somewhat young French lady
Full of class, ah shake appeal & pride
She said “undress me, maybe later deserve me...”
Yeah, I did that… and uh… later

I ordered me some cappuccino
In an eye-blink she read all the games
She looked at me and I looked at her
It’s so simple, believe me, right there...

Not a strange situation at all
I don’t know her at all
I didn’t ask about her past
Or uh, how her fortunes roll

It’s later now, nearly 2 AM
We’re talking and, uh she kissed me twice
Once for the desert, she said, for the rain
Come another lifetime around

We got another cappuccino
Eyes and legs entwined
We did not care about the weather
Still raining, well, it’s... fine
Passing by...

When she finished her cappuccino
We ordered some sweet champagne
Two bottles and then there’s morning
It’s the end of her nighttime flare

I guess I’ll see you next night, my graceful lady
Hope you’ll come again
To the same café
With the same appeal, and uh, similar plan
Of a capricious
Cappuccino
Strange coincidence

"Age of Innocence, Age of Behavior"

AGE OF BEHAVIOR (1984)

We’ve been waiting so long… first there was “Hair”, “Easy Rider”, British Tribal Music, Stonehenge Free Festivals
thru 1984, collective anarchy, extraterrestrial trippers on Planet X joining the band, The Druids, laughing with serene, complete worlds, a universe of sounds… real poems were written there, but we kept no copies. Books of the road were completed, but never published, and photographs were taken, but not of the people and places… voids of light appeared instead, and our Wiccan girlfriends went looking for ghosts. We’ve been waiting so long… first there was Blake, Rimbaud, Ginsberg, Daniel Johnston… we’ve kept memories on cassettes, we were not afraid of our feelings. We were not cornered. Manipulated. Castrated. Neglected. Punished. Vomited on asylum walls. It was an analog world of freedom, now turned digital, worthless… we can’t remember what really came first. Vague memories of Eve and the Tree, and of Sin, imposed by the Black Gowns marching…

transitory period (2012)

We’re entering the Age of Innocence again
full circle, back from the Age of Behavior (it’ll happen soon, mark my words – there are solitary prophets already screening out
the 2012 apocalypse, when the nurses can’t hear… "poles will evolve and we'll finally find Atlantis in Antarctica")
no longer caged, exposed to camera eyes, sold
reproduced, marketed, pigeonholed, published
sewn shut, priced, licensed, registered, logged in,
checking our e-mail, updating our relationship status,
playing our favorite games… what will we do?
naked, not serving, served, labeled, measured, thrown against
a muesli wall, spitting out our useless teeth, old men
on diet cocktails, without a homepage, without a nick,
without connection, not sending poems
becoming hermits again, learning to be a true writer
not blog user, community portal’s favorite pet “poet”
online magazine hero… now sitting alone
in a freezing December apartment, no water, no light, no heating,
no way to cook meals, no way to make coffee…
only matches work – but there are no more books to burn
except one and I’d never burn “The Prophet”
nowhere to buy. nowhere to go.
Our supermarket churches have been already
plundered, if not, they're being right now...
and you won't leave them without leaving traces
of your priceless, humanitarian blood.
We're Hunters again, blind, obese,
limbless, shaking... trouble is, we can't hunt
unless it's for cheap, imported products
away from corporations of thought, of manner,
realms of fake virus speech, assault on Spirit, battery on Body
demented one-night prophets, disease of friendless laptops:
into them hunchback figures type common doggerel, like me
repeating after lucky men, trapped in one-inch cells
of armadillo skin, away on a Buddhist peak
online forever, forever miserable fucks, logging into
simple, electronic lives, playing someone we’ll never be
saving our sick kid idyll, finding android wives,
our only excess hard porn pay sites...
forgetting what’s Human, leaning onto
your mechanical crutches - blinking red/green lights,
full of mp3’s you’ll never listen to,
e-books you’ll never read – too much data, sensory overload,
megabits of useless music, literature, art… pictures deformed,
pixel pandemonium – cell phone photos deconstructed
look, you’re ten pounds thinner on screen, look, you have no flaws
of identity anymore… perfect model…
I’d really like to meet you without disappointment,
complications and affection, obscene scents of sweat,
body fluids... just send me more pictures - I can write
poems from them, it's gonna be beautiful...
we're never Poets – mutilated carnivores in hairshirts
instead, worst illusionists ever, bit-nick clowns,
masked marauders on Google altars, drinking from
corporate sources of doubtful knowledge,
not reading real books anymore
stuck deep in a pilgrimage of safe entertainment
where’s dancing on ropes, walking on ice,
breathing in fumes of the city… what will you do
when all computers go silent? What will you do
when electricity fails. What will you print out,
not even confusion, repeat, confusion
can be your epitaph – your real scrapbooks are empty…
that is, if you've got any left... me, I got this one - it's now
sacred... you can’t remember handwriting, you can't play
acoustic guitar - all you ever had was a $13000 Gibson,
just to hang it on your post-modern wall...
can't write songs - the music software doesn't work...
you haven't written a real chord on paper
in ages - you relied on these cool flawless beats...
anonymous e-mails wrote all your lyrics...
sad, but I'm bored with illusion. Lady Madonna, feed me raw
reality, gray post-socialistic high-rise blocks
embrace my poor mentality
push me into dealing words again
push me into sheer songwriting, cut to the bone
primal magic of bonfire chant
I could never sell crack, Slovenian women or stolen cars.
I’m not that kind of guy
Thank God I'm safe in Poland with Roky's "Openers",
my old ragged Fender acoustic, my scrapbooks and my Mind –
anyway, fuck that, too late for nice guys.
All machines are silent. Cities, now darkened arenas of unbelievable
Roman monstrosity. Weapons disarmed. Governments dismembered.
If we were a true society of Peace, this would mean
a peaceful revolution... a paramechanical world at last...
But in this culture of death - no longer restrained,
no more blinds of control - it’s gonna be a fucking slaughter.
No music, no light, no poetry. TV reality's over.
Online reality's over. Nobody's printing out papers.
Deafening silence of Truth.
Fall of Men exposed.
And this time, it's real. We've done it ourselves.
It's not prophetic mumbo-jumbo
repeat - it's not prophetic
We've had five years in 1972, I say thank you, Ziggy, for giving us the chance

AGE OF INNOCENCE (1983)

Murderers reign the family roads, martyrs crowd the clouds, digital children circle, aimless, in ruins of silicone faith. No cellophane, iPods, laptops. Global village makes room for the Jesus of Joy, not the Serious Savior. Dolciono, Bokonon, Bernardone and Eon, innocent, walking together through burning valleys of corpses – flesh, once again, turned to smoke, liberated above the sunset. Everything’s comic up here, this earth is finally free from your thought, your passion for form and meaning, divisions, revisions, anal sex culture. “Celebrities” are gone, fortunes are common, cities tremble like grass on the wind… Eloi rise again.
New music is being composed, golden books are written.
No connection to Mammon.

"Echo in the Mirror"

Steel mirrors in distorted sun
Arrhythmic applause in the haven
Faces drop & distantly liquefy
On my arms two corpulent ravens

Exodus into desert plains
Landscape calm & silent now
The notes are drifting really slowly
While you stare & ask me “How?”

I tell you why you should ask me “When?”
These are plains of mystery
Seven hundred people scan
In search of unexpected prodigy

"Polen Afrika (incl. Lorca One, Andalusia None)"

Slavery days are over
Anarchy in town
White face fat warden
Spreads the world around -

- a messy little world
Primal rhythm cell
Embryos on the go
Comets burn away
Words, words, words
Make a world, world, world
Make the factories stop
Go, Johnny, go

A little hilltop village
Crosses on her hills
Burning through the night
Go and do your will -

- in the days of old
Love was all the law
Synonyms in universes
Baked as the world
Clothes, clothes, clothes
Make the man, man, man
Lonely, lonely, lonely
Make the man forget

Windows in the night
Free electric orgasm
Keine businessman steht
Keine Yuppies ins Kreuzberg
Yeah...
Keine Yuppies hier
Kein Yuppie mehr
(Mehr Geld...)

Afrika Polen
Wake up!
Afrika Polen
Gar nicht
Afrika Polen
Steh the fuck auf
Für Zeit und Ewigkeit
Polen Afrika

Paint a white cross on your door
Destroy all glass and plastic
Close your eyes, forget the day
Receive the night fantastic -

- take the trip, might be your last
Enjoy it more and more
Kill the brain that killed your brain
Take my hand, let's go
Silver, silver silver
Makes the gold, gold, gold
Dig the goldmine deeper
Deeper dig the stone

No yuppies here
No yuppies
No more

Take U-1
Stralauer Tor rebuilt
Take U-1
Take all the guilt
City's changed overnight
Take U-1, take U-1
Mark your steps
Mark your breath
Before the war
Before Japan
Take U-1
Don't be the last
Don't be the last
To see
Take U-1
Freedom's free

Improvise your life
Think illegal, think awhile
Improvise your death
Realize your life

Here for the music
Here till 6 A.M.
Smoke a big fat brother joint
Sing out while you can
Here for the people
People for the world
Circling in your time machine
Space is really slow
Now stop...

…stop at the window
(smash
exit sunken girl
the glass)
Fry the cobblestone
(smash
go and do your thing
the glass)

Wake up every hobo
Let him praise and sing
Vagabond caravans ride again
The days of Spirit's spring
Aufwachen
Der Slum
Für Zeit und Ewigkeit
Viva Zapata
Viva Afrika
Vagabond caravans
Ride again
Franco no, but Spain
Oh Spain...
To be your man
Again

Steh auf Berlin
First on the list…
Then Spain
Priceless
Vain

Afrika Polen
Wake up!
Afrika Polen
Gar nicht
Afrika Polen
Steh the fuck auf
Für Zeit und Ewigkeit
Polen Afrika

Take U-1
Escape police
Take U-1
Escape
Take U-1
Run for your life
They'll shoot you if they can
Prisons cold and weary
Death mild and weak

Take U-1
Escape police
There's still so much to see
Jetzt aufwachen der Slum
Für Zeit und Ewigkeit
Viva Zapata, viva Afrika
Für Zeit und Ewigkeit

Black youth, white youth
Under one skyline roof
Microphones tear down the homes
Sun arrives, new parks are born

Death to the city...

Black youth, white youth
Under one prison roof
Turntables scream ignited
"Hare hare supermarket"

Death to the city...

Afrika Polen
Wake up!
Afrika Polen
Gar nicht
Afrika Polen
Steh the fuck auf
Für Zeit und Ewigkeit
Polen Afrika

Merge the scenes forever
Power stands as one
Soul love, heart stove
Prisons open wide
"With the power of your soul
anything is possible"
Anything you couldn't do
Anywhere you wouldn't go

Troublemakers, undertakers
Death-lovers, mindblowers
Pill-takers, smile-fakers
Standing in Ulysses' sunshower
Slave ships circle forward
Black entity
Grow your beards, lose your teeth
Meltdown unity

In death
We're free

Afrika Polen
Wake up!
Afrika Polen
Gar nicht
Afrika Polen
Aufwachen
Für Zeit und Ewigkeit
Polen Afrika
Immer und immer und immer
Die Zukunft hat jetzt keine Stimme

Yeah
Weißes Kreuz an der Tür
The only child survives
White born devils at the door
Gotta get out til midnight
Weißes Kreuz, keine Macht
"Keine Macht für
Niemand"
Drogen bleiben Drogen
Mitternacht kommt Mitternacht
Come Schamasch
Come Schamasch
Save us from their midnight
Wake up!
There's a white bloody cross
At your white bloody door
Leave the child alone
Let the white child go

Afrika Polen
Wake up!
Afrika Polen
Gar nicht
Afrika Polen
Aufwachen
Für Zeit und Ewigkeit
Polen Afrika

Immer und immer und immer
Die Zukunft hat jetzt keine Stimme

Pirate winter radio
milky fingers
paper whores
cruel sunsets
pave New York

in blood
cough
dead cow's sky
linens of youth
scribble the bribe
arms in chains
feet still free
running in spades
against the night
Lorca one
Andalusia none
Lorca one
Andalusia none...

Take U-1
Forget the sun
Vagabonds of sex and time
Take U-1
Leave no mark
Leave the borders
Sick, depart
Leave the borders sick
They're art
Take U-1
Make it fast
Join the hunt
Be the cleanse

Keine Welt
Keine Welt
Keine Welt
Für die Kinder

Keine Welt
Keine Welt
Keine Welt
Für Niemand

Vagabond caravans
Crawling through the land
Vagabond caravans
Crawling through the land
Immer und immer und immer
Die Zukunft hat jetzt keine Stimme

Transmission ends...
Transmission ends...
Transmission ends...
Trans/
cut

"Exit Daylight"

Exit daylight
Not accustomed to that tight bright light
I'm loose on the string,
Waiting for the night
Loose all the time
The string keeps pulling me
The sky is dancing me
Loose all the time
Starless, free
Exit daylight
I live by the lamp of escapism
Immature, but a honest substitute for revolution

Unmatched
Found guilty only when they want me to
I'll own up,
You just let me come back
To the steady twilight zone
Tell you all about that girl
It was she who held the gun
I was only
Choosing the house
It's flawed
The eye on my hat is seething
Blood from your rat cage dawn
Exit daylight
It's the opposite I own

Exit daylight
Oh I'd love to change the city or name
Both there, no matter where do I go
It's stuck like the face to the man
The suit's too tight
I'll get rid of that Italian look
Complete with this woman
Complete with the shoes
I'll get my money back
I'm gonna start anew

Quit this poet Hokey Pokey
Make a movie or two
Immature, but a honest substitute for detention

"Early Misty"

Early Misty
Coming down the mountainside
Early Misty
You're my bride

Early Misty
Resting at the riverbed
Early Misty
Spiral hands

Breathing slow
Pulse within
Early Misty
Stranger dream

Night's engines whisper
Leaving galaxy
Early Misty

Leaving galaxy
Exploding in clusters
Finally free
Infinite road
Supernova bird

"Forty"

We'll take a bottle
Of the cheapest wine
Go to Forty
Spend some time
Take a sip
That's how it is
Highway behind us
The concrete bid
Writing more
Talking less
Forty knows it
Drugs don't help
He got some for later
He got some for later...
Horizon's shaken
My cocktail glass
Filled with piss
The blackbird's nest
Sit right back
Enjoy the night
Poor catholic girls
By my side
Forty laughs
Drives the bus
Take us back, please
Take all of us
And we'll pay you later
And we'll pay you later
Solemn sea
Bitter land
Anonymous ships
Quarantine flags
Strangers came
Once again
The circle has come to a full stop
Ain't it a shame
Where's your heart
I got none
Forty bought it
Long ago
So he can have it later
He can save it later

3 years back
I played guitar
With Pete the Roman
He played the drums
Learning tricks
From jazz LPs
He was good
Too good for all this
I heard he died
A lousy death
Heroin
Peter Pan
Jazz will catch up later
Jazz will catch up later
We'll take that bottle
Fill it up again
Go to Forty
Midnight men
Mystics shuffle
With the wine
Greener hills
Easier time
Silver dollar
Fits the hole
Worker's spirit
Don't get old
I'm sure it'll pay you later
I'm sure it'll pay you later...

"Fake Poet"

Fake poet am I, the empty page,
Dada propaganda
Always too late
Field of death for my ink
King of the sludge
Bug on the wall
The cheapest whore
Fake I

The only one in this black room space
Tarot cards and a backwards weaved prayer
Lord of the flies, spit in your ash
Future corpse in the present tense
I'm trash
Fake’s best

Rumor has it I'm into the dark
Lines admit it, they've no better place to park
I'm no shaman, that's already been done
I'm in need of a guru myself
The radical counterclockwise
Sun
How come you mix up religions
If there's only one
That's fake
I cum

Fake poet am I, a pest in your pie
A nail in your shoe,
A needle in mine
A junkie am I, the portrait, the rehab
The ride
Came home from SF
Didn't like what I saw
Rumor has it I'm twice that old
SF's cold

All stars have moved to LA
Fake poet am I, the empty page
A lover of fiction, a maker of worlds
Venus in furs and her favorite toy
Both to one, one in three
I'm my father's father
The river of sleep
I'm fake
You're free