SMALL TALK AT BUKOWSKA AND LIBELTA: A poet in Poznan. - Poetry Chapbook, 2012.

“Krabo” They say moon is the same for everyone Streets are hostile or friendly Nothing depends on your luck You exist cause you’re taught to...

Friday, February 8, 2013

"Actual" Full poetry chapbook.

    watchtowers:
                             night. in a fragile bed,
    invisible e-water quivers in gloat; language –
              sight-sheets rainbow trouts
                               steady w/ a description of a new signal,
                    Zorn’s greatest…
                                 in series of cards I faintly leave station
                   on glassite earthdiscs
                         ghost-shroud radiolites
                   partially free, betraying the force of a visitor;
                                           w/ bubbled, well muzzled
                                      humanity’s eternity.

fathom:
                                                   desert. in need of transport:
         mad choose instruments enclosed in golden glow
                        over millions bent wholly overhead;
                    men shouldn’t wait on word platforms
        spoken in coats their writers are trapped
                                           in – placing blessed machinery
                          above forevers of applause
                  face wounded mirrors in journals…
calculations move; shifting of night-breeze,
                                       beyond place
                                  above the buildings
                                                  resoundingly free
                                 far from any door.                                                                                   

privacies:

                 face. dead metal all the way, presently – a
                     while
                         from the miles across her eye-
   liner’s ray gaze, swiftly; broken
               matter, she, a local cheapo; he, admiral traveler
   of the east, both
               exterminating greed… w/ hysterical sighs
                                in still waters – moonlight by
                                                                                   sound
                      of crustaceans sizzling
                               posting wants on oscillating streets
   his finger pushed uninjured through the wire
                                            applying sky to visage.

                                                                                   mindsails:
                                                      Bettie. reads controls
                        wonders out loud: “perhaps agents
             archive burned objects”; reducing egos,
in heavily directed rooms, closed eyes, what
                        was to explain, her case seized my fiction,
                                and doubtlessly expressed violin fury:
                                      any particular suggestion? so… eyes
                         is characteristic
                         sun, sails, as a blur, I heardly ever know
                                          about
                                               what works for your thoughts
                                       give? more;
                                                             of you. time.

                                                                                            standards:
                                           player. make tears absurd
                        snap metronomes
                           remove equalizers; strke the icy
                                    yes – spill concrete on adjustments
          radium beer on what was exits, your picture is writhing
                                         so… just visible, artistic success, “two
                         come to no signal”; order is sinusoidal
             and miracle out-explains being time – range, not death
                on silver-moist steady-dressed engines, I, I am the
                  engine – beginning of scales in the wee-wee hours,
                         ejaculated piano movement
poor world, you say, poor the one who names it
            through days and centuries of with, which, wearing
                                                                a window
                                          on his wrist
who’s the one observed here?

unused:
                              circuit. from now on, it’s kisses for arms
                 leading the formless shepherds
marking demanded whiles; meanings, heartbeating stranger armies following the sea – accomplishments, the swing error-
                                -science impulsive fellow…
                                                               loop queer character
                           the shepherd’s source throat
                       evidence; spectro-analyzed plan
                                   Anette’s-love skylight, voyages
                            w/ sulphuric animals of the moon.

saltmilk:
             ocean. follows sane angels… vampires… arrangements
                                                      outer limits in them –
                                      cylinders on the horizon,
                                                   circular ring roar,
                                          erased amazing ships,
                                   “ah!” web-builders
                                                      members in sky caresses
                    guarding their apparatus in infra-red cages
                              packed in spectra of wind
                                           change… closer
                     instruments-thought-intruders:
                                cups of milk theory
                                        spiced w/ salt.

                                                                                            exchange:
                        luminescence. did passed.  was I wrong touching
                                    my phantasm creature's waves?
          other of authority. am. where the
                                      length of knowing
                                      meets the ships of chance; up to where
                         my skull’s
               enjoying that lay. it. afraid what would have
 been of me; forth fight tiny changes
                  lakes to light, of pale creature, lurking in the towers
                                      authors jagged of cages,  armed
sardonic sections challenged young asteroid's magnetic will
                                                      look into the dead hell
                                                                               parachute over.

                                                                                           pinwheels:
       shelters. nameless people; over my head, as in a grain
                              opened mechanism, paused shut
                                 directed to treatment; dark faces, the
                sex agonized opening to red of south
                             eyes that by & around
                          stared their gaze until they grew tired of
                 labors, but splashed the daring attempt
                            at thumping the starlit wayfarer
                                   lifting mad scenes anew
                                     governments pretending
                            proffering execute fire
                     w/ gloom given sun that equipped them;
                             turned skin ran brief at night
                                             but brought no goliath ashore
                                directions, headquarters
                                           paper barrels
                                                burning.

danette:
                 july. occasional room
                            time sleeps when she’s thinking
                 refreshed, interrupted, plummeting
                              into space-age trees & wanton planetary
             cats; she looks along lazily at the solarium disk
          responsible for life; at peace w/ blackness’ answers
                  forwarding details – invisible battle moves on, mind
                            of orders, but she’s down here unruled,
                                              pure & swaying like a wing.

hemisphereal:
                          bullet. who are ye, captain important?
                                        atmosphere of skin
     reptilian doctor of thud jungle, crumpled dark operative,
               grotesque pushing priest; purple lay – come in
                  w/ your dead, gods & totems, disregard me:
           the weaker world, game of doorways & voices
     racing bones, closed tons - visitor vacuum
  ventilating systems
            brave switch citizenry
                                sitting on stars
              sparks of metal monsters
                           calculating them, students learn of
the exploded men – sacrificed to astral nightmare.

                                                                     harmlessly, eventually:
                        fingertips. within your body they were
          looking for help – comrade woman; sunray president
                        of the dead-white executive wine, cloudless
                 on the pretended error moonlight; was she my
                  first inexperience? now what the moon’s made of
                                looks different, it murmures reappearing
                                         while French planes circle quickly
                   w/ a message of dusk, what were her words?
                       cursed snap here & there, someway stern;
                    objectifying love. the temperature of casual
                     criticisms; perfect w/ my things, how have
                                     you been bit lately. dying?
                                no harm to sea. glass stories have fallen.

                                                                                          headspace:
                               echelon.pick exist, into and of the segment
                                           maneuverable, past the
                          mercy door
                                     down the may field beyond
                       known day of flesh; could have bathed
                                 in your finds all over again
                                            through them you’ll suffer deeply
                               for a soundless cage of reward
                               awakened later on a rail
                                        saying chance
                     when asked, answering “skylanes”
                                       habit of fraction
                       works on signals from zero to godhead.

phase rag:
                    atmosphere. leaf pictures mangling you – or
                               did you rise against that doomed
                              monstrosity of a turning wheel
                             on denser suit droned bits
         of soil,  installing shells of ego; w/o the technical
                                 knowledge. I mopped the diner floor slowly
                folding butterfly wings
           been cover to your thoughts long ago
                                          they never walked forth public
                                                             tracks of bone
                         here the earth is showing
            striving for great millions flung on a sea walk
                   in the chains of a dim & vertical beam.

mothercell:
                           destruction. one wave, as of senses; tense,
                         the little coloring soldier, who’s answered
                                      hundred thousand phonecalls, but wait
           speak of leisure & insects of the ocean
                                         summarize the
                       distant – grotesque formation of no
                                          besides & can’t
                                 panoramic phantoms
                                           talk sardonic
                  no vase for me, the spoke winds cry
                             & the soldier lost so much space
                   on precipitous valleys exploding out of
             downward heads
      crew of fools, not ship, the tool of discovery
                          once more reduced to
                    one electronic signal; broad frequency,
                                    narrow canals,
ever-increasing guards of ideas
                                     reducing space flyers
                        to jesters
                           quakes of earthlings – respective space mother
                          softening
                                  her touch
                planet whispering in relief, though not without
                                the weight of human factor
                      still drilling the skin
                                        of its tender
                                                             perpetual balloon.

Thursday, February 7, 2013

"Lightbulb Balloon"

I took a trip to the realm of
Black and white silence
I took a trip to the 20s, or even further down
When I returned to the world of future
It seems it has lost its colors all around
And on the crayon horizon
Something was hanging around
Pre-industrial lightbulb balloon
From a time before our time

And it carried soul survivors
Fools like me who lost their way
On poetic thunder gardens
Of apocalyptic eye confusing spray
Horses! Horses! Screamed the vapor shaman
They must take us down the river to our gold
And I’ll summon shell ghosts of the death prairie
Pay the price in equal parts of blood and sword

But I didn’t pay no mind to a madman
I already have one deep inside of me
He can even con his fingers into thinking
They keep threading complex lenses of the free

Flowers for the lady, dear comrades
Ribbons for the soldiers, noble chimes
Trains are stuck at Pankow rusty station
And I’m trying to find my freedom in a rhyme

In a simple wooden house in the outskirts
My friends were trying to bring me safely home
But I’m wayfaring further down the madness
King beggar on a soap symphonic throne
Counting stations as they roll
Late for U-bahn, I’ll just walk

Friday, January 4, 2013

"Traitor"

The mind lives mostly at it wishes to live
leaves no spare room
demands no reward
cries out for no protection
expects no divine intervention
loves no one
& hates not a single thing
it slides, it flows
observes just to gather
sleeps beyond the sleeper's will

Still in the womb & never conceived
breathes Night's immortal
pumping
jewels
hears the star-storm
jamboree, vibes of
the sucking space thrust
we omit
& deny
& forget to deliver
obedient to the skies
overhead only

What are they but cloud projections
moonlit sculptures
thrown onto sheets
of fire
carved in rain & barely visible
smoke-rays

What are they
but our eyes
looked upon
from the other
side

& the other side's not there
& then this here's side
not even here

So hold on to your mind
that's the traitor
you know
best

Friday, December 28, 2012

"Feather on Shingle"

I'm feather on shingle
Chalk on the sidewalk
Sketch of buffalo skull

I’m treasures in death drain
Pawn on the cardboard
Vapor of planes flying by

Live for your place
Damn, write where you are
If I had your address
We'd be truer to art

You’re broadening your senses
I’m keeping mine restrained
So no one can afford the price
Extraterrestrial markets pay
For a second in my brain stream
It ain’t no ego thing
Cause once they dig inside me
With phosphorescent limbs
They indulge in the cosmic nothing
Where words are of no use
And flesh is just a memory
Bound to fade and lose

I’m pinto clouds of dawn
Blaze voice on the saddle
Any shade you pick

I’m dancing dead crusaders
Masts of void galleons
Crumbling into sleep

At night the shade falls slower
Some say it’s poetry
To me it’s just a pint of
Assorted shrubbery
So drink while night allows you
Take that sweetening spear
Leave poetry to the restless
To them such words are dear

Thursday, December 20, 2012

"One Scalpel Cut"

Time is a cruel machine
A photograph box
Schedule of dreams
Love is a cruel machine
Colder than ice
Strictly obscene

Temporary joys
Fleeting gadgets and toys
Selling their girls and boys
Driving them nuts
Reading an old French novel
Thinking of Alfred Nobel
Watching my love unravel
One scalpel cut

Life is a cruel machine
A poem you lost
An old worn LP
Peace is a cruel machine
Controlling the war
Under your skin

Temporary joys
Fleeting gadgets and toys…

Trust is a cruel machine
Leading you blind
Confessing your sins
Lust is a cruel machine
Wearing your eyes
Observing your scenes

Temporary joys
Fleeting gadgets and toys…

"Stationary Girl"

You’re waking up
You can’t remember where or when
You fill your cup
With plastic coffee full of sand
You’re doing time
In this ugly hotel room
And you don’t care (You’re all alone)
For distant fragrance of the moon (Except for crayons and the moon)

Don’t you know
Somebody loves you anyway
Don’t you know
Somebody’s seeing you today

You’re shaking off
Dust and shine of yesterday
They’re just the same
After hours gone away
Your quiet drift
Thru endless alleys, fruitless arms
Unnoticed wind
That’s the kind that’s blowing hard

Don’t you know
Somebody loves you anyway
Don’t you know
Somebody’s seeing you today

You’re walking out
Into the street you know too well
You call it stage
Some call it prison, others hell
You lived here long
You couldn’t tell your ups from downs
Your world is flat
Your only orbit circles town

Don’t you know
Somebody loves you anyway
Don’t you know
Somebody’s seeing you today

You’re just too lonely
To be put away
You’re just too fragile
To be taken on your way

"Bikini Buddha"

Sitting on the beach
Dreaming of god’s hand reaching down
Sifting tons of sand
Looking at the seashells that he found
Knowing he must grow
Feeling that his life is circling round
Same old circumstance
Thrown between the flowers and the hounds

He knows he’s got to travel
He’s a Buddha after all
He knows he’s just a kid now
He’s like the fools who rule the world

He drinks his slow martini
He’s so outdated in his hat
He’s searching for a meaning
On mossy rocks where sages sat
He feels his destination
Enlightened doorways in the sun
He sees it in his mind’s eye
His only mission is to run

He knows he’s got to travel
He’s a Buddha after all
He knows he’s just a kid now
He’s like the fools who rule the world

He puts on his sunglasses
Reincarnation missed the door
He walks on dark molasses
Into an endless diamond hall
The world it is so silent
When he begins to speak the truth
He knows the old are lost
But he is reaching out for youth

He knows they’ve got to travel
He’s a Buddha after all
He knows they’re just a joke now
They’re like the fools who rule the world

"Year of the Watermelon Moon"

Clean bed was a luxury
New boots a dream come true
Guitar strings were always old
Cars were always used
Meals were cheap and booze was warm
Drugs were out of reach
Streets were dirty, time ran slow
On codeine and bleach

And I would kill for just one night
In a painted heated room
Life was hard but beautiful
In the year of the watermelon moon

Driving long on buses cold
Lonely like the world
Headed for the outskirt waste
Frozen to the bone
Clothes were always full of holes
Sky was filled with rain
You said it finally made us clean
Gave our hollow love a name

And I would kill for a night with you
In a neon lit saloon
Love was strong and glasses full
In the year of the watermelon moon

Drifting with the thieves and bums
Gypsy blood was wild
I’m sure I had few drops in me
When I roved the ancient night
Suitcase and a guitar case
That’s all I needed then
Highways waited for my song
The girls were young and brave

And I would kill for just one kiss
But it ended way too soon
Time was cruel for his favorite fools
In the year of the watermelon moon

Friday, November 16, 2012

"Hereworld"

she was stretched out there
leaves pattern
on dirt bed
leaving blueprints
of laters, maybes
in the eyes of others
mandalas
to the eyes of demons
fine words for
writers
sweet melodies
for songsmiths

in the back room she roamed w/ the tides
of moonlit camouflage
where safe I stayed observing
nothing boring happening
clouds exploding
filling see-through balloons

love was the word
tears fell over
cheap orchestral Beatles' renditions
plastic cacti
gardener's flashes of a
wife, her magazines, used books
black & white photos Mike made once
w/ his one of a kind
see-through camera
a monster
of be-in
drenched
assertive
raptures

it is now time for the pattern
to reveal
its proud complexity
of a death trap
its wish of peace
& leave the hereworld alone

for the best we can do
is the least we can
do
& words
read better
potted

Wednesday, October 10, 2012

"TV Leftovers"

We’re all watching magazine covers
Wanna-be luxurious lovers
Feasting on TV leftovers
Dumbly glad
We all pursue same ambitions
Making brand new coalitions
With whoever has the ammunition
Running mad

Is your backyard bulletproof
Is your homeland high aloof
On the winds that blow for war
In the ears of politic whores
Enough

Can’t you hear they sing for peace
While you’re sitting here at ease
By your nuclear fireplace
Can you think of a safer place
Can I?

We’re all living online wonders
Big screen news from lands far yonder
Still afraid of midnight thunders
Rolling wild
We’re submissive parts of system
Robbed of all our intuition
Lulled to sleep by chimes so distant
Singing ever so persistent
There’s nothing, no nothing
To worry about

Then why
Do I wanna shout
Yes why
I feel like I wanna shout
I’m not sure what I’ve got to tell you
But this time I’m gonna say it loud

Tired of scraps and TV leftovers
Tired of news-shit, cheap makeovers
Tired of scraps and TV leftovers
I feel like the young are a-taking over
For real