Jericho

they should've seen Bird comin'
should've heard the warning out now
loud
should've interpret the soundsteps
right

shhhhh... goes the sordine...
hush
went the bricks
dead went their baritone singers
with their razorblade
ties
& plastic moondials

jazz overcomes forever...

nobody phoned
god
& the golden telephone
throated
out
dead lines
armed the delicate 9
pushed it through a strange woman's voice
w/ a tattoo on her
lip
eared to the shhhhh....
like a wall's eared to your neighbor...

jazz overcomes forever...

shhhhh... goes Bird and erects his
wild
thing

never to look into trumpet's white face
gilded magical silenced

dead went their whorehouse
cherubs
dead went the mothers
who've given birth
to unspeakable monsters of song

jazz overcomes forever...

times were all confused
& the clocks did never
run for real...

shivered the wall
and so did Jericho
crumble

Temper the longings

you see... love's a near death experience
near meth experience
near black ringed eyes of solitude...
and I thought I'd teach you
but oh, how you taught me...

nearly autumned in your presence
or presented as a strange young specimen
of night
when you asked me
"what style's this cathedral built in?"
I had to answer
"miss Dada, you know what I meant, now don't you?"

and I loved the places where you'd take me
only they were not enough
to soothe me
and we were not enough for lovers
at this here special
occasion
and I've been searching for something more
but it's only by the way
by now...

you see... at the Pink Dots' gig
I thought I held an angel
who'd give my work a meaning
and a further
investigation...
but instead your Nazi brigades
almost slayed the
pitiful
singer...
and I really loved your stockings
then
and I wish they could play
Belladonna

and I loved that elegance
gutter
and the sax that smashed into
eyeballs

there's a strange little rascal backstage...
& he doesn't go for the calm
territories...
"my god, you're just like an earthquake..."
remember how you denied me?

second row... first encounter

all's fine now at my side of the pool...
all's vivid
viciously
yours

& in pauses of my breath you speak...

& I guess that it makes you real
happy...

if only we could temper our longings
and make them somehow
work...

Fuck thee Gabriel

with a trumpet forced into his throat
& wings polluted with SF air
he came upon a chariot of trashcans
& gravel
& of putrid fruit distinction
along w/ his heavenly-oriented
pyromaniacs
& some of them were
queers
& some of them were
hopelessly
jimjammed

he had wonderful sound
& light
technicians...

the famous
Lunatics&Drinks
the famous
red and white
catholic
boys...

almost made him look a real angel
crust
starfish...

sadly still not enough Gabriel...

"come thee, come thee..."
reverberated a million times
spiced w/ phasers and choruses
treated w/ a bow...

Dolby surround and 3d-vision
w/ the 4th & 5th dimension
added...

they obviously had no noise gate
too...
but the cameramen kept on watching...

"come thee, o tangled blue sinner... come thee, I'll show
you a good godly way... come thee and cease to resist...
come thee and take thy Master's hand..."

still not enough goddamn Gabriel...

well, fuck thee Gabriel
I'm a show you who's Master
'round here...

I'm a fuck thy ass
& stuff thy trumpet deeper
into thy slothy throat
to feed thy gluttony
writer's wrath
& maybe some
writer's hunger
& then some writer's
everyday wake-up pain
& then eviscerate thy goddamn
corpse
w/ some of the writer's
March
solitude...

& then perhaps thy angelic
majesty
gets
it...

& then perhaps it stops
fuckin'
whine...

I'm a show thee my own filthy
scene...
the one that wasn't Your-Chief-Directed...

well, fuck thee Gabriel
w/ a broken dildo
w/ a whip &
fellatio
too
& fuck thee with all Babylon's
serpent
twisted
grace
& fuck thee with a million volt tongue
& fuck thee with a million horsepower
suck
& fuck thee with bull's thrust
corrida on speed
& fuck thee with all my mistress'
sick
sophistication
& fuck thee with thy own very
escort
& fuck thee with the tree
that grows by my window...

fuck thee Gabriel, fuck thee three time
fuck thee Gabriel
the false pretty
angel
fuck thee three time by tree by tree
and fuck thee all sevens by sevens...

fuck thee who cometh to visit the writer
in his rusted dyin' bed...

Patricia in rooms of song vain abortion

I detuned my guitar again
& stringslit my wrists for the kicks
then I kicked out the whole goddamn
sappy string section
then drunk a whole liter of
heavy
sandpaper
danced naked like a mountain
faded
hermit
w/ masks of Adam's last
damnation...

& I tried to write a tune for you
yet still couldn't come close
to your
essence...

yes - I admit I failed...
not the first time this time
though...

Am fits all the colors of passion
& it's mighty good for tango's
first
bars...

how can one make strawberries
sound so
hopeless...
or silver spurs so mighty black
while on my papers
suicide's pink fluffy flakes
fall on mouths of babies
like wedding rice & dimes
& death is your Santa
Claus
here...

one goddamn fiddler was still hidin'
in my closet...
thought I'd murder him for his
optimistic
tone
perhaps he's the culprit...

don't know how he survived
the major minor kick-out...

you should've seen me in my
Kinski
mode...

or I'll pass the fiddler some absinthe
so he finally breaks his fingers
& heart
to sound real enough for my
pain

or perhaps treat the bastard
some
coke
or stinky razors
& Beelzebub's
socks

but the song was still not so lonely
it still was
too sweet
& contained the very last flavors
of Patricia's hazel hair...
& the very last curves
of Patricia's cirrus body...
& the very last cloudlines, frozen,
of Patricia's iris face...

too sweet
I thought
I've got to forget this woman
& focus on my
barbarian
duties...

find some dust to rely on
folks are not good at this...

a massacre's needed here...
a massacre's needed fast...

lord, how I wish you were here..

to witness the rooms
of song
vain
abortion
& the idiot
who fell for you
in the Autumn

Use just once and destroy

The cruelty's cold queen passes on another card
smiles...
the corners of her mouth
evaporate
the joker's thin excuse
& the timing's respectless
flaws
as she wraps her legs around my neck
& comes closer to Kadarka bottle
she's a sandglass
chandelier
deck

& I wish I could drink her up
feed her some nails from the savior's
tower

powdered...
instant...

& the crystal web of crushed velvet corridors
I claw at
& tear at
all the way through
like a garden of all acid pleasures
inwards
corners
preys...

& I'm useless...

then she cuts through my spine
shudders
feels the blood that's bleeding
for
her
feels the numb patient surrender

knows I'm hers
all at once

powdered...
instant...

Love is a fungus

I came across this ancient graffiti
at the vegetable shop's wall
in fluorescent paint
there stood
a statement of attention
a statement to be reckoned
with:
"love is a fungus
and the street's where it grows..."
it suggested a whole epic
after...

there were all these green things
present
and they sure taste like your bodily
odors
and love is a fungus,
yes sir
indeed...
it reminds me of how are you dead...
it reminds me the juice
never spilled

love is a parking meter, too
and love is the cigarette
machine
it is also the crossroads where we first met
and the kiosk where we
swung
apart
and the Boogie St. dawn
which opens all nite

then I came across this graffiti artist
I somehow knew that's the man...
could tell by his hand
and serious fish eyes
I asked him:
"are you a goldfish, man, like me?"
he laughed
and said
"so that's how they meet..."
and whispered
"all love is a fungus"
and there's always an epic
after
cause the first line is always
the best
one

and our women are always
so
willing

Soul radiation in the dead of night

She extended the tongue
sliced in half as the lizard's restless sign
language
penetrated the screens of my heart
attack
delusion
while I've been stealing poem titles
from Pop's old
lyrics...

we've had cold coffee
& bourbon on ice
ice on the windowsill
snow on our angels long gone
clipped
heartaches
while the winter was dyin'
and so were our clothes...

"damn, it's beating so loud
I can hear the meat
through your murmured
lectures..."
she said
collecting dregs
sediments
ashes
pretending she's feline enough
to make it
halfway through
residues of unburnt powder
sludges from washing and cleaning
or spirits in the house
knockin' at the greasy
windows...

Electric light's gone
3 AM's gettin' closer
& the supper's not ready
I'd yell at her
I'd beat her up
only I'm not that
type
& she'd kill me earlier

she took hold of a little kitchen knife
she looked as if she's gonna
use it
to stop the goddamn beat
the heart's delirious
ramblings
to offer the poet salvation
& save him from his
monsters
evacuate his longing
make him write w/ the monkeys
in heaven
make him finally
smile & starve...

a hopeless little girl
pretending to be my whore
choosin' resentment
over
disguise
& masks above all
freedoms
freedoms above all
classes

& I miss her now...
even standin' at the opposite
river's
muddy
bank

City centre howl

sway through the city centre
sway through dozens of downtown women
keen on uptown dealers
& middletown sailors
decked safely at the ocean liner's pretentious
steer
like a belt
or a giant beard
you be the judge
you be the prince
of the marked cards

smug harbors
smog cutters
rag havens
scum investitures...
up against the wall
up against this side of the gun
up against the marvel of
oblivion
& the steep amazements of her fury

shit talkers
need a single bullet
a single dollar to shut their mouth
and begin to pray...

emerge out of the car horn fog
swallowin' the shallowin' sound of music
some cheap swing matters
hidden in the big bass drum
safely pinched inside the
banjo
young enough Sinatra imitators
dead cunts on prison bars in Cuba
swollen to incredible sizes
like raw dead rats
consumed as chicken
wings

sway right through the city centre
to find all paths meet
at the very same spot
to find that they all lead straight into death
straight into nothingness
apathy
kids
drinkin' their beers and whisky and vodka
and who-knows-what that they can afford
and I wish I were that rich

shit talkers
need a single bullet
a single dollar to shut their mouth
and begin to pray...

and I'll burn all the fuckin' smug harbors
at any given
chance
watch bombs explode in the rag havens'
hearts
watch poison gas overflow
the sick smog cutters' veins
& kind institutes of art
collapse...
be a hopeless guerilla in the concrete wall's shadow
ready for
execution
ignoring the falling down
new
architecture

Locomotive for Billie

whistling the love for sale away...
chasing the ghosts of hysteria, the men of town
the men of a million songs
the men of a million debts
the men of cheap cigars
the men of low reputation
of high life's gutter pleasures
and humble wives making pancakes
the spurs of the madness on top of the wing
the wing on top of the madness
the pancake gets thrown at the wall
the wall forms an answer for Billie
and yeah, that's a quote from the
Holy
Bible...

whistling the duty out to the bar
mingled in silent death's little sister
the one with beautiful heels
the one with a spirit and lips of ashtrays
the one that's waiting for love for sale
whistled
far from behind the stage
far from behind the cornershop light
far from behind the
sex in the lobby
the poker at church
Melinda on Fridays...

and it's all so strangely
satanically
spiced
so tingled
and carelessly
undermined...
the thick white lips shaped in a D
like Mr. D
like dis way to de Konig
like here are the Germans
and they're waiting for your song
and here are the last war's
disabled heroes...
like the D's so goddamn black
it hurts
& the D becomes an icon:
very soon forms a little tail
a tail just perfect to step on...

a tail to be hit by a locomotive
rallying through the counter
through the sad old lady
through the tankards
through the barkeep's dingy face
heading for Billie at death's sails full-fledged
driven only be the setting sun steam
of the probably last true black
angel
the goddamn flying Dutchmen
of trains
the red-bearded
undertaker

There's a lie...

there's a lie at the base of this world
the one that goes:
there'll always be a dawn
the one that goes:
I love you
the one that goes:
we're all mad baptized surgeons
the one that goes:
I love your skirt
the stars are all always so cold
in the autumn...
the one that goes:
it got warmer by now...
the one that goes:
thanks, I'll walk alone
and I'll get you another drink, my lover
I'll get you another lover,
my friend...
the one that goes:
we're sacred hummingbird's hearts
yet somehow so dimly entangled
and lust is the key to all palace's
doors
the one that goes:
you taste like my birthday
the one that goes:
fry me some eggs
there's always some bourbon
at Jimmy's old place
the one that goes:
I'll see you tomorrow
the one that goes:
I bought you some tea
and the ocean's my favorite
ballroom
the one that goes:
we'll die tonite
the one that goes:
we're immortal...
the one that goes:
there's a map for your skin
the one that goes:
I'm your man
the one that goes:
I wrote you a lovesong
and I'll sing it tonite at the bar
there's a lie at the base of this world
the one that goes:
there's a lie at the base of this world