While Listening to African Fusion

there’s root
seed
& skin
a beat to follow
phase to exit
equator
dusty yes & go
heat to turn
off
electric kilometers
words
used
a million times ago
con artists’
sand
why stop
ecstatic music?
there’s country
all over the concert
its free flags waving
dust red
bass lines
there’s soul
to plant
in your brother’s
bohemian roof
garden
shoot at the
summer
moon
think of names
& wires
oh what do they mean
to free
flags?
what are isms
on drum
beats?

"West is a Holy Color"

Mysterious smoker in the snow
Sighed and said it’s done
I’ve finally counted all the straws
Of luck below the sky
And west is a holy color
Of this you’ll have no doubt
Once you point your heart towards
Its radiant cloak of life

West is blossom transmission
West cites angelic sources
West is pulse put on the air through
Aliens in the fresh snowflakes 

What I wanted to say in the first place
Where I wanted to be born
Did it matter, who was asking what wombs when
Why and where this body here was thrown
But west is a holy color
This knowledge has its charm
Once in the east you’ll feel the power
Dictatorship ignites

But that was in the 50s, a century ago
While we must write and live anew
In freshly fallen snow
He’s not the only smoker born among the poor
Who’ll once rise into power
No setting sun can blow

West is a holy color
Driving through the waste
West is the sweetest poison
Drink up while it’s still in your glass

"Ulysses Sun-Shower"

I live absolutely free
I point myself up to the stars
Set on a long deep journey
Be one on a morning too far
Walk thru polluted highways
Swim the polluted sea
Shot into space trash can
Shoes of a god burning free
Give me a kiss

Standing in Ulysses sun-shower
Smelling plastic flowers for hours
Mescaline fields I feel united
Doctors say I’m pretty far-sighted
Cut the cigarette in my hand
Walls and doors I try to understand
Jesus Christ was born for loving you
Acid world reveals the truth
Give me a kiss

Buzz that chest
Let me drown
I’m not gonna wear your crown
Ultra silver sleep
Is interrupted
Caught inside a melting world
Corrupted
Give me a kiss

I love you with all the power I can feel
I love you with my brain, mama, this is real
Give me a kiss

I love you with the curtain hair of flowers
I love you and my love ain’t kisses, no
I love you thru every cosmic hour
I’m never gonna let you fall

I’m sitting on the edge of the world
Thru me all the light flows
I’m the eternal being beyond time
Space is my game-field toy

"Piękna Helena"

161 ton miłości
Drogą biegnie wzdłuż i bieży wszerz
I tak od śniadania do kolacji
Szepcze parowozów cichy jazz
Droga jest z żelaza, szlaki z pary
Maszynistą los, maszyną świat
I tak od poranka aż do zmroku
Chociaż nie jest lekko, praca trwa

A ty, wciąż bez imienia
Jedziesz gdzie adresów nie ma
Niesie cię wichura i natchnienia
Wiezie cię przez świat Piękna Helena

Milion dróg i torów kilometry
Możesz przeżyć z nami jeśli chcesz
Nie ma ani chwili na zwątpienie
Co jest twoje, było, będzie – bierz
Na pociągu czele stoi ona
Twój żelazny anioł dawnych dni
I od gór przez pola aż do morza
W blasku nieśmiałego słońca lśni

A ty, wciąż bez imienia
Jedziesz gdzie adresów nie ma
Niesie cię wichura i natchnienia
Wiezie cię przez świat Piękna Helena

Kiedy dzień się kończy, nie zasypiaj
Wymarz sobie podróż, dotknij jej
Gaśnie już pomału popiół zdarzeń
Gaśnie słońce, lecz marzenia nie

A ty, wciąż bez imienia
Jedziesz gdzie adresów nie ma
Niesie cię wichura i natchnienia
Wiezie cię przez świat Piękna Helena

"Rain to Moss"

I lost some hard earned money
I lost some drug trail friends
But we’re all losing paper flesh
And all we thought we had

This loss is normal – like any loss
Like wind to beaches – or rain to moss

I lost the tree of portraits
I lost my feel of sense
But we’re all losing veins and reins
Whoever runs this race

This loss is normal – like any loss
Like wind to beaches – or rain to moss

I forgot my piano lessons
I forgot the time I’ve spent
On forgetting losing drifting things
In this sick experiment

This loss is normal – like any loss
Like wind to beaches – or rain to moss

MEDIA NOCHE Full Poetry Chapbook.

“Tea Monk”

Breeze through the window
freezes
the kettle
cool age storms progress

leaves boiling -
ice cold enough to burn
fresh wood in the kitchen
dust on the floor
Japanese cardboard – duke
vile hammers

bang the tea monk’s head
w/ thought, comparison
& ideas – who needs these
ears, empty
bosoms, but death
& all things passing

in a simple tree
nirvana
gazes back
at the bowl
where rice grains have swollen to the size
of peaches – sweet alike
& full

if you search for conclusions
go elsewhere
this breakfast has none
& morning song poem
rises
from the burning field of dawn
w/out purpose
or scars

containing all purpose
within
the one leaf
that don’t
fit here
puzzling
the globetrotter.

“Court Fool’s Encouragement”

Seven baskets, filled w/ straggly birds
Sun veils, endless clearances
Impunity stroked w/ a virgin’s hand
Lions of starry thrones

Seven gaping gates of turquoise
Woven endlessly into space
Waiting for priests late forever &
kings, musicians, hitchhikers

From behind the swollen black it all speaks
Behind the curtain torn dead
Worlds open wide to the souls of so few
Without any apparent reason

The face still covered w/ a planetary veil
Perverse cosmic pageant of time
Like a temple – burning corpse of delight –
He wants to erect it anew

Seven gaping gates of turquoise
& baskets, too, seven – in mentioned sun veils
Blindly thrown before all the lovers
Like an eagle among hungry crows

The five senses universe imprisoned
Smolders under the skull like a candle
Waiting until the drummer hits the membrane
& the court fool finally sings

“Media Noche”

Take me to the mystic equator
not far from here, the circus bizarre
take me to the inexplicable starlight
before science & jet lag
I promise
I won’t return to day
from this
slim impatient night
I swear by the sail of alliance
knot of crystals
drawn on my cheeks
by the primitive Moon men
in which they say, you kiss your
ladybug giants
take me to your village of birth
cool primal woman
the smell of death as white as my skin
the inquisition camera emblem
stains my arms; mud of purgation
applied by the elders
helps
but only in darkness
my senses are sharp
to your quiet – feasting on beans
in the cave – quiet dawn on the
highway that never ran here
& shall not; here minutes last eons
hurried to the harbor
I think of only one thing
civilization disease powders
my doctors gave me; I brought
this damned cargo
you gave me the cult
your darkness saves me,
with the cross, broken cross that
helps me – help me break the cross -
break the cross that helps me
take me to the tomb of death – straw me on it
pick me up
save nothing for later
run me, love me,
media noche.

“Far Nepal”

am I, in the glory of birth
or in the madness
of whiskey
mistaken, in white conclusions
drums that led me here
were shy
important
grisly
then I heard the flute - 
golden fly
on the bedsit
angel
winks the wing
on sun
moon beyond the valley
sighs and leaves
the throne
troubled beauty
vasco
bitten
treads the junk of years
drinks the word
of war
rests on beds of death
fucks the mate
of god
dreams
of far Nepal - and now
I want to do nothing
but play the drum and sleep
when the rhythm states
my time

“Your Violence”

Two black guys
wave at the sparrow
spit, discuss religion

A simple table, wooden
next to the birch
a very important tree

Luddite heart in mafia
gear, trying to survive
inconsequentially

Great beer parasol
laid on the city, a friendly
neurotic hand

All this chemistry, coins
pick-ups and semis
rolling down the main street

Opening  boxes of air
jazz inside, a cockroach
fan, laid on virgin jewels
of her dictatorial
body

Two black guys recess
to bays of Amsterdam
mornings

Windows tremble, unsuccessful
like us, never into life – don’t pity
sleepless fools
Chrome-god trumpets, swinging
in red stupor twilights
to pistol psyche on golden pillows -
this is her theater span
skit warm wardrobe

Moving back
to an empty house
cursing the wine, cutting the table
to pieces

Throw that guitar
out of the window
let it kill a child
swerve two blocks down
ignite some bum.

“First Look at Rainbow, Daybreak”

Solomon’s light, or purgatory
drifting w/ flashes
of free; as in free bird crying
at sun’s sight
after storm, curious child of
ships – they set course on conquer
before the first drop
of flesh
forms a shapeless oar
feared & worshiped
butterfly
azimuth; as in wing shape
stretched to form the curve
of sense, sweet the jungle
or ocean
of first souls wandering
through the naked
waste I cherish

“Used Fiat Blues”

In my used
Fiat
I drive through
snow
listening to Breakout’s
“On the other side of the rainbow”
from my father’s poorly copied
tape
but blues
needs no hi-fi
quality
of modern
daze – days that outreached
the base side
of men, seeking mad realms
burning
blood delta cotton
on my Fiat’s winter wheels
bluesman’s vehicle
rollin’ – I swear I see that side
already, between my day job
and my grandma’s pancakes
there’s blues
in my children’s eyes

“Nivea Sun”

Chrome rumba flaunts
sky dagger
above banners of sun
Pharaoh’s columns
divers in magma
gratefully twist the rhythm

Chrome rumba floats
above callous rooftops
there’s nothing surreal
in the future
it’s that cultures are resting
on coal cannon woods

Chrome rumba picks
new life’s scapegoat
psychic boarder
of the yoga war ship
false lashes prophet
in a mini skirt exploding

Chrome rumba swirls
among the juicy madmen
crowding trams and cafes
bookstores and supermarkets
spacemen trapped in the muscular reality
of planets

Chrome rumba rips through
pickle air, levitation
fakers read from brick-sized books
choosing pages that blame
and curse the greenhouse
for raising comets

Chrome rumba stiffens the
working man’s collar, robot
hunchbacks weep for the sweet flag swamp
another world slips by
another story is told, quickly
fragmentarily.

“Straight into the Whale’s Mouth”

It's raining today on the strange & lonely; bypasses me
I'm sitting in a dingy rock & roll pub
one of many that fill the old town
& I’m changing slowly
into the last drop of vodka
at the bottom of the last glass
in the last murmur of an anesthetic moon

Ore spook dawn comes slowly
treading lightly on the bloodied
paving tiles
& sputum of millennial immortal bums
looking for the cat & a lighter
between tables full
of naive lovers
jostling their shoes below

What counts are the first words
says my friend
staring at the faded black man
hauling cosmic opium fumes
into frighteningly white, horse nostrils
when the unknown element creeps into the night
& firmly modifies the existing order
of neat matchstick designs

Far jazz stratifies close dawn
& makes me read a book
staring at the wall, on which the galactic time projector
displays a movie about the end of dictatorship
illustrated w/ thousands of bomb blasts;
chromed suns of existence –
discharged by anonymous flyers
straight into the whale’s mouth

“Say Hello the Hearse”

Oh, there is a shifting, lost boy
there is a linen, young girl
there is sorrow,
mute bird, deaf door
keeper
there are lines simple enough
to make you cry
you wish you could write
them
deaths unvoiced pass thru the ether
pigs traveling lightly
thru the sunrise
there are ships, vast doomed vessels
that carry the soul
you bore – for it wasn’t your father’s gift
your mother’s
blood – it’s your own
solitary
construction
& nothing else, nothing you can count
or add to, no special meaning, lost boy
no love, young girl
no room, hopeless patient
words so simple they make you laugh
what have you made of your soul?
why have you conquered
the far Alaskan shore, mountain ranges
cry for your vision
think twice, don’t think
there’s a harbor
& in the factory of dark days
carnival music bangs
the papal daughter, though dusk has swollen
smiling sadly
& guests left early
leaving the plot unsaid
words unwritten, songs forgotten
so raise your glass to the devil
say hello
the hearse

“…And So the Futures Toll”

Space wigwams
orbit
the white wall
city; mankind’s dream
stripped of men
mankind’s fate
pale in fate’s eyes – eyes of the sandy
girl, iron lids falling
shutters on the Indian light
of tomorrow; child’s visions
old man’s hopes
exact copies of brainwaves
carved in white cool stone
in the red sun
anonymous; lines of first dawn
as remembered through holy books’
pages… fatal warning
of the atom age
atom warning of the space age
space warning of
the stone age – one that’s yet to come
…and in the crystals of stagnation
wizards sleep; astronauts of fire
helmets emblemed
w/ slaughter
they came first
to new land’s shores
all new lands
were treated
equal – old blood brothers, the teachers
were forced to learn from the
new breed; alphabets changed
idols altered; crosses of cosmos mistaken for wood
and golden calves of their writings
floods, whose writings, these writings
all writings, dreams and visions
thieves’ visions
converts’ dreams, chains and fires whispering
tales of the voyager
golden plate chorus
of our era
era:
the blinding mold
of life’s oven; oh why do you see death here – death
fog white fog black
fog
our fog:
helmets of the coma warriors
veiled in pyramid snow
touching the restless lids
of a lady, I will name here first;
Slavia spreads the day fan, Slavia
names nothing
garden exists forever… underwater beings
chant for siren princess…forever
the futures toll.

“I'm Digging In”

I've got all the colors of the tiger - sisters know it for fact,
brothers don't care, I love them like that... so many... so
stoned...vibrations of palm scented youth.

Where are you?

Brothers gave me roses, sisters came with a 45...whitey,
gotta take it, gotta beware...bourgeois forces want your
head...impaled on their plastic fence...exposed in a white,
cellophane window, for white fat kids to see...lawyers
want your work.

White cheap whores want your dick, preachers want your
soul. Cemeteries roar for your body.

The doctors want your brain, runners want your muscle.

You're the alien of derelict districts
they're all looking for...here, take this gun,
take acid. Lots of. Here's some tinned goods. Eat.
Here's wine. You've got to survive. Smoke this.
You'll see more clearly.
We're gonna pick you up real soon.
Just look at the sky...use your mind...use true
electric airwaves.

They're gonna come with their cameras, crosses, banners, angry flying fists
fighting for true religion. Blood and gold,
tobacco and liquor...the only true god...death at your door...
mostly Christians - blood remembers the spiller...

but you best ignore it. Write books. We might need them later.
Write music. We need a new anthem.

Stay stoned. Don't leave the apartment. It'll happen all by
itself...just watch...they'll never find you...your door has been
marked. The Airport has been closed. The Devil is kept in
chains.

Who are you?

We're Scythe to the White, Soul for all Colors...Listen...you're
one of us...bathe in this...bathe real long...you'll turn black and red and yellow
...you'll see the Night in all colors. We will recognize you.
Here, here is the piano...screw it electric.

Listen...I've come a long way - space was cold, but... colorful...magic
I've spend years of communion there...millions of years, while here,
down on the planet, the climate changed, infrastructures exploded,
architecture disintegrated into jungle...I had
to leave the city...

...of feathered snakes, anonymous pyramids in underwater sunlight...hey,
we were the nuclear light...look at the ceiba, black stone...Fifth Sun crying,
turning...ice melting slowly...This is Africa speaking, lost immaculate rose...

I've got a strange kind of feeling...it was neither an asteroid nor a giant bomb.
No idea...got high on the shroom...so beautiful...all those lights, orange horizons, distant ships talking,
falling to Earth...so psychedelic...so... deep...the birth of real
communication

take care, hold on to your coats...hold on to your homes...my face hurts a lot...
must be the cross of guilt...Three-colored Man in the Night... White Faced
Demon at Daybreak.

Enjoy it. That's all you've got. Hummingbird Morse Code
Colored Disguise.

...I'm off to X-Balba soon - lots of green land, parks,
spacious attics, no noise but guitars and scrapbooks
and water, water water...
Pure to change the Color.

I'm just digging in.

I've got all the colors of the tiger - truth is I'm a mindless
swan, headed for the void.

Wait. Dig in. Find means of escape.
Change into Tiger.
Live according to wavelengths of space.
Fear not - New Sunrise is coming shortly - right after the last, pathetic
commercial break.

Then I'll go marry
the last immaculate rose.

“Shut Up Silence”

Shut up
it is what the day is for
go out, do a list
execute your shopping cart

Shut up
it is what this love is for
look at the cross in my fist,
burden of sky

Shut up
yes, you - you ain't done nothing
in silent hours,
holding onto your blanket
of breath

Shut up
it is why we are married
twilight songs encompass all eyes
you mark his hand with love

Shut up
in front of her eyes, she didn't deserve
this hell, motorways
noise and gimmicks of pain

Shut up
but close your kingdom well
it never served these weakened ones
tired in body and soul

Shut up
it is what we are for
to comfortably share the night
while gentle children sleep

“Ode to the Absent Seamen”

momentum in sea
momentum from these sons, cold from sky-hidden
history, they vanish, into pulp, change into

reefs, that know planets’ songs
have they failed in their speech of light?
I’m on my knees, for there must be something larger
than earth's wings – the universe most quiet
long, deep digging sun stains orange waves
forms the scent
and shades
of my own man – one of these sons

echoed as god
remembered for
the sunshine of their labor
the universe shifts
looms with long sword-flash leer, hobbling
through discovery

Christ's unhooded sea
scorns whatever state the empire's in, from Andes'
sent freedom, to the herald of lion’s wrench

weird icebergs creep it
which skies aren’t dreaming
where is the man scale
greed & dragons march in the searchlights

the fields & coasts man made his home
cry for a ship divine
tired of compulsory anchors

“Belle-Age”

yellow noise, sorry, the concert?
she crossed her legs
should I take the other train?
stage-fright papa
slowed her down
& watched spectators’ hate hands digging
just like a schoolboy

glass turned to birds
killing have seens, join inn, an ill-tempered house
brave touching day plays
her thereabouts, young bodily
train loves
turned-down a collar, either she or what slightly poor
made of it, don't be a quit, put me, unseeing, thru one yellow sound
& mother gallery, fixing my teeth, I to I,
or were much of these sounds whereas…

thick set old silence
mellow beauty
plays violins
seemingly belonging
to rushed or speedy people
disliking the voice within

but who has the patience to be that beautiful?
gulping quivering breakfasts
luminousness wrapped violent

many idiots take earth cabs, but
women don't laugh, using the bridge,
they paused own personality, of
beautiful interest, observed by intimates
behold! two poor angels, they say yes, we’ll come shortly
won’t be longer than creeping on debts
ladies hug what’s left of the value
of Wedding
no sensitive form whereas…

“Transfigured Sailor”

show me, great sailor
a womb of dismay
unconquerable African dusks
w/ which maddening tyrants
play, chaos drags them, lords
of bagpipe orbits; midnight masters
grading flame, ashes of every
forest

breathless zeal to give what’s never renewed
back to the cloud fleet: soarings, circlings
native rhyme bulks

from eternity springs ancient sting w/ flesh
peoples, grace, Dante's rapture
kind crime of mourning

are you still heralding the fire
now that sun's been betrayed
moon quartered, last quiet carcass,
once the fruits I could smell through me
in ecstatic prayer

brave Spanish master, show me
flocks of mind, your arrogant
blinding religion, can you soar on such
throne? hell’s cataract you climbed
spilling legislatures

pendant minds? inspiring lightnings?
today’s transfigured ruins

“Soul's Eagle God”

whirl yourself where
planet's sunrise takes it to the mountains
gloats in huge brains, rising from Earth's trashcan

black cosmic blood wings chant: to hell with fortune & generations
finger head & liberty
let’s blend the larks w/ weeds

this nadir-based
bone nation horror
no man's embrace
that chaos of a city
once great lionic soul, human lung ice field
boasts the flies
on & above ocean breaths

starry justice's spirit
shoots out
boa-like ages
sparks, blood-eyed tramps,
mines, days, flowers: apex gory nights
luminous palms
must-have caves of the region

to all the monsters of America ghastly, of and about
the guns, thyme, false love, heaven feed columns – all that
& more, the subliming slime teaching me
w/ hastened dreams of every slain child
I lit up words that warm it
when demons slain saint’s people, okay,
what have I forgotten, by stagnant milk
& hamburgers, I merged w/ what destroys me
souls echoed love
freedom’s columns said goodnight

true were those ages
now sun attunes my freedom
to invaders’ simple tongues:
wing-whir blood church floorshow

“Bard’s Woman in the Cool of the Summer Breeze”

He woke up vain and flaccid,
slowly raising his sweaty hands to the ceiling
in a gesture full of expectations, and yet so very bored.

Why haven’t I asked her to come?
silent picture on the screen, suspended, making its best impression
of cellophane-made wonder, a plate on which someone crumbled
tons of brown sugar, hoping to create
a work of art inspiring generations.

Alternately, he called various names trying to
connect the girl's face with one of his
favorite images, in the summer book – full of beaches,
palm trees, cows, meadows, shepherds and naked women.

In a word, hot milk and honey sweetness,
multiflorous, flowed directly from the mild, delicate
pages of this book. Fits perfectly to the soft, flowing
lazily in the smoky air, peaceful music – escaping from
the speakers of an old tape recorder:
a Grundig with a broken compartment.

He thought it would be great if she only wanted to graciously
wear a watch once in her life, right now, when he needs her,
and she’s probably still sitting in one of those dingy
low-light-emitting empty jazz clubs in the southern part of town
(6 am).

Looking for a pack of cigarettes w/ half-conscious eyes
glancing every cabinet, chair, and a large
brown table that mysteriously found its way
onto the middle of the small
room, next to the bed on which he was resting.

There, I found it, he said... noting after a while:
fuck, it’s empty
starting to dress up, he placed a leather jacket
on top of floral print pajamas,
putting on his sandals.

The door gave way after gentle pressing of the handle
and one hit just below the top lock, spreading before
him this great picture of green – pines, lindens, maples –
all mixed up, plus sole conifers onwards, a lot of grass
on the dunes and the infinite space of the sea,
which was his universe, here on Earth,
where he was headed after daily happy rituals.

She woke up, still dreaming,
that’s why she still could not find a bed
in the midst of dense purple-orange sunset clouds
flying helplessly towards the hill
from the ruins of the castle that’s not more than one
thousand miles from this planet.

Her small island suspended under the moon
was always waiting for guests on rumbling free jazz nights
and days filled with be-bop, forcing the cats to dance
along the promenade.

She woke up, and then fell asleep again,
REM  fired from her eyes, merging
into the daylight coming up from behind the patterned
curtain entwined in drapery mandalas.
I feel GGRREEAAAAAAAAATT.

“Suite of Longings”

suite of longings
murmured gaze
every stretching gives an ear
I-ching
on a hummingbird's wing

the oldest Earth walks away
stars anew w/ the day
every nonsense claimed her own
summers seem wintry
women kneel down

can the red look sing
granted to its night spirit's
faces
or sure of the glimmering waves
it turns and turns away
to pray

shake the remembering folk
bush out your spectacles
clean
bare and full of me
best bird-seen
best fish-swim

grieve with the hills
their autumnal voyage
in town and wintry and free
girl to the morn
and I to she
ancient marriage proceeds

suite of longings
crooked but solid
mean and meek
forever worried
pour the moonlight at the bird
lover moon-stream w/the sun
captured in your
endless run

“Poker Men”

pitiable day of very somebody
wooded midnights
old covered however
party minutes all over other's faces
below all past
Poker dollars, three men asleep
square sleep tango...

storm in rocky heavens
welcome to temperance houses
moral table ladies
desperate echoes
not equipped aflame
companions caring ascended
protecting stones
the snow will melt, we're sure of...

joining pitiable facts
strayed at midnight
great the roads
nights
spotless

of sleepers we dream here
remembrance in rude rusted minutes
sex in the hall
apparently forgotten
as the joker cards the climate

“Windows Burn as Time Flies By...”

chimneys gleaming
windows burn
until the time flies by
until the south-wind
comes

mysterious with leaves
& gloomy prints
white-haired figures
walk the lightnings
sure

shelters disclosed
most vividly ventured
where stands the blunt lady
ornamented
lofty favorite of his
mistress of his
carpeted eyes

windows burn as time flies by...

elegant silks
peeping through the chestnuts
tossed in black
cooled clad
rack

a little stick place spend but unbroken

“Scenery Madeline”

will her conjugal fingers
become sanctuary
rose-colored asylums
blubber hermit
or mother letter thing

will her twirling days
become curtains on Henry
obscuring Miss-Behavior’s
deep-cushioned love
or a grave and a kind regard

holding you painful
in her truest of seasons
in flowered arms
and impudence
scenery Madeline - never sincere

life swayed for her all around
answered, measured, done
elegant rested humors
queenly on their spirits table
lead carelessly into oblivion

the music yields and I of the evening
release her tear-stained volumes
soars says thoughts
staggering fawning come
the hermit drinks up his tea
and leaves

“The Wreck”

Wind and slide toward that roof heart
lord, her being rent...
blank measureless proclaims
begin
again

slide toward the control:
dissolving churches
exploding magic:
all wanderers read the shorelines
that roof heart of hers
while the mid-noon kindly banks
his crowds in
Hollywood
smiles

death laughs:
Time to be his strand
Shingle be his stand...

Harbor monks endure the play
wanderers admire the score
under night's wailing star dawn
yet

rock perchance the worldwide limbs
rock perchance the roof
vainly as time
soft as the river

Life:
bare shade flower
keen on
aware of
the wreck

“Pause”

pause the sounds
the doors
unmeasured neighbors
lay in slopes
for the patient
pyre
skies
changeful
hands

tell me of my vain response
animated summer
tranquillized beaming
and clay

sun awaits your foundations
where immortal gloom lays fevered
without birth

pause with soft anthems
one deepening ear
one friendly hand
chilling winds soiling the soul

yearnings throb
fade
flutter

vocal eye:
the twilight's yours
to kiss

“Mountains Are Known”

contents come of high virgin's
bloodless
tale

of her strive he only placed
a decent funeral

her ivy wars
death to old
freedom to young,
confused

islands as art
w/ all our assistance

from ships
ships only move

from women
women just flee

in devotion of our rivals
true freedom
rests
and mountains we are
are known
forever

“Ship-Shaped Hearts”

one burst over to the ship-shaped hearts
gazed through the Sea
trembled doomed tide
rippled to pieces

whitened dancing fairies
and their perfect pair
slid darkened, far sleeping
far-flung
and desired
blooming but from their waters
bosom

paths of woe unexplored:
demons wreck
roar
on steel
in ruby
weaving their
frolic earth vision
mirrors

light morrow's gold in astray
a brook on marked mariners
one burst over to the ship-shaped hearts
gazed through the Sea:

be there skulls
be there owl flame...

deep tissues specter
the sky bloomed
down lady
deep Adieu,
beloved!

No deep murmur though:
entertain slippery eyes

one burst over to the ship-shaped hearts
swollen by
scream peace
explosion

“Early Stranger Dangerous”

she boys the boy, employs
his dreamt-abouts
trumpets take pleasing numbers
eyes full of death, unharmed
razor, razor
eyes
God is sun
that men reply
arrow dog
the village fool
dreamt-abouts
which work so cool
laughing gun halls
trumpet wives

wrinkles top down
herd of cedars
on intent
the bright & shocking
pain

rattle all
as spoken word
descends
losing faith in it
losing faith in men

beneath the Cow the curious go
I ain't got no Ace
to show

“In Their Distant More”

leave essentials
the triviality of action
figure in
vent affections
statuary, faintly comic
political in human form

the unimportant baldness
human false
permanent moderns
great tragic derived
long-distant enjoyment

...time was
was time...

predominated
in proportion interests
intrinsically something
capriciously entered
his contact
his actions

...time was
was time...

in their distant more

“Limp Assistants”

see either air or mood
kindest ever deaths

joys, misfortunes...whose the days
really are
idle lessons & limp assistants
countless regions of care

ether friendly children
whistle out
the poor sage's prayer

matchless heats heaped in thousands
scrapped to bits
elusively
still

you and your pleasure:
useful
true
salutable

sessional subjects
fill up dead seasons
lovers to little
constraint
wrought the wheel
to guide the rich
only to their
doom

daily hats
and limp assistants
all we ever get

“Seraphs of Youth”

the bright
with that side
linger onto where she lies
to the stains of a very young song

princes, passions
pretty windows
blood
cot
graves

and doomed, so doomed your sister sits
nervous moth of never-doors
approves his swelling
oozing
grace

(pilgrims at the Pride Lake's bottom...
singing... guiltless...white & plain...
ever to the same refrain...)

zigzags hounds
to clean the blood
sully, grisly pot
strayed a-lot... we laugh a lot
buzzing to all this cold

and Satan’s little fly
some pallid shade
of a room
from Tide to the bluntest pain
explains
again & again
his name...

lame the disease... furniture screams
linens the door with its crimson
brigades

astonishing seraphs of youth...

“Little Girl, in a Room”

little girl, in a room
shakes of all world's disasters
from her painted-brown shoulder
green colored sheets
eyes of elation
misses the street bus
at six
moves on
sits down

dreams of a cock
then chooses
the lark

moves not from the room,
leaves all the doors open
the windows closed
& heating off
to feel the snow as is

becomes his prostitute
sailor
favorite reluctant sorrow

the sky moves on as she walks
& sidewalks are painted
w/ all of her wasteland's glory

reminds me a name
that sticks to no face
but floats freely seated
there, in my chair
there, on my knees
forced to inhale

(her spirit's as old
as the mountains of Spain
the great Andalusia
or first America's
evil)

dreams of a lark
then chooses
a panther

cocks crow dawn
yeah, a little red rooster
at sunset

Indian Suite - 2 Poems

The Old Soul

The old soul knows
Exactly
What the young soul is still not aware of
Poignant meetings, programmed existence
Karmic devils of pure belongings
Burning at stakes of freedom
Pyres of youth at Eden’s black borders
Or plain combinations of reflex
And thought
Bodily odors
Saliva on ashes
Phallic stones
On levels adjusted to ear
Hearing marble
And eye seeing nothing but white
While lovers adjust to
The ocean’s wild side
The old soul knows where the
Trees fall down
The cycle returns
The fortress rebuilt
Management of fury and cardiac
Smiles
Arrives exactly there when expected

Indians Talk

Indians talk with the stars
Full circle – response
Chants and sweeping voices
Rhythm of earth and nothing but her
She that the living please
Only – she that cries not for the dead
Indians sit while the knowledge
Revolves
Evolves and resolves
All endings of hell
To carve new beginnings of heaven
While new cities form ashes
And deaths form puddles
And gardens so slowly grow out
Of windows and sidewalks and walls
No lifts, doors
No phones, no jackets, no homes
No high rise blocks, no shirts, no coats
As the Indians talk with the stars
Waiting for tribal
Sunrise

"Ghost of Dusk in a Pastel Shell" (for Lou Reed).

w/ a hint of melody, pinia, delicate torture: A
Am Am7 A7
descending; mirror ghost of kings
slits the green line
park; duke
of plastic airdrops.
tutors, lambs and highways
drift the saddest Sunday
on the way to school
oceans shambles
I’m sipping gin receiving news
tears stop on the shelf
filled w/ Lou’s records & French poetry
love’s face, crossed in a punk fashion
looks up
to the rain of tomorrow.
I bought you cheap, she thinks to herself
& w/ soap under her nails
she starts writing
the great american romance
w/o the dead narrator
piano shyly lays down
the chords & structure of twisted
moans and mourns of a twilight
once crossed on a NY reel
of villains, pale subjects
to salvation; not escaping this time, sifting
w/ the uptown stink
demands the town to curl
like a wounded cat
in the back seat of a Chrysler.

take one, puffing smoke into the mic; sprachgesang
of insects. hard heavy breath, eliminated
suturing milk and sunrise
into quality chrome
& ash – suddenly stripped like a graveyard –
of giant city skyline
inbred, brave – preset to life
inlay of skull & marching soldiers
on white/grey dots in print
comb bind w/ logic
death merely passing – streets – face – root beer
& junk nirvana for Joey
I guess I lost it
this Sunday, ghosts of empty dusks
crown my idiot self fish
morphing to heavenly hearth
one w/ the raven angel
& I can’t make love to you today
no, not in chains
of fury’s disciplined winter
death cold Germanic
away from forms of speech
over gut guitar of Jesus
strumming that heroin pattern
all through the desolate mourning
sleepless choirs of snowflakes.
which words were yours, heard in the backseat
alley, unspeakable hurt
humiliation – there is no succumb but your ego –
demon seed of subways
pushing junk on same corners
back to 1980s, crackheads, models, art scene
recalling the hum of blues
from every train passing
& every river flowing; dirty sunshine…
…now variable, pregnant, important
words which were mine
belong to her; the romance
she’s writing now, the child she wants to raise
the street she wants to walk
without sad songs & 3 euro breakfasts
with whom? without.
once the hero’s gone
once the plot loosens
in the bright light thick solid wall
you’ll crash your brains
on piercing whiteness
thinking it’s too late
receiving a call from your teenage mother
you’ll realize
you’ve reached the side of angels
time to join them, & her, in sickening warmth
lose the conscious dictator drill
w/ a bang enter the realm of fury breeding art
in a pastel relic shell

"Late Sketches of Arthur"

"the poet is truly a thief of fire."
isolate
scrutinize
introduce
bring out
over the years you’ll learn this & a few
other
most necessary things.
seated work is terrible
agony on hot days.
military figure sustains
the heavens.
expert says - good vintage, truly
delicious.
you need to meet him
in order not to perish
in this fickle industry.
circumcision’s bureaucracy.
the candidate sniper opens the window with a bang – no-good - bad, bad ...
people are the determinant of region, remember:
scrutinize.
thought is like milk
poured into coffee. & you're the coffee.
you won’t recognize yourself on the street, archer.
the tabloids won’t tell you:
"citizen R. was killed last night in a particularly brutal way. Well, the perpetrators... "
"Mrs. R. gave birth to her sixth child & is feeling well..."
have you burned the pictures?
give me the ashes, now - white plate & something to wash it down.
I missed the tram.

"French Wildcat"

She stands there waiting, skyscraper heels
A shot of glamor from her lips
She knows who she is

She smokes a bright and thick cigar
From the back of a rock’n’roll car
And it’s a single kiss
To end up drained and then deceased
Between the sheets

And in the rain she sings the tune
Of vacuum cities
Passing by on trains with lovers once so far to reach
Now laying at her feet
Just like the world
She never leaves her soul
Unreleased

I trip the dark room once again, proving time exists
In the caverns of her touch
And curtains of bliss

Psychedelic nocturne shots from brocade hips
Green and yellow perturbation
Lives beyond her lids
Singer of the unreleased
Lady of the Paris streets

Wildcat
French wildcat
Drooling cheap boys
On the market
Pin-up starlet
Dark eyed model
Lenient driver
Curly lover

Where’s the world of dreams
Where’s the teenage screams
Where’s the silk screen thrills
Where’s the golden films