"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

"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

"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

"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

"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

"Baskijski Kwiat"

Pisałeś na ścianach imiona ulic
Płynąłeś wartkim strumieniem
Potem w galerii stłoczony usnąłeś
Znużony tempem kamienic
I podał ktoś słodką wiązkę maku
Zamknąwszy drzwi do sali
Słyszałem kobiety mówiły o tobie
Afro wizjoner ze stali

Tępy świat, baskijski kwiat

Tańczyłeś po dachach najwyższych
W bezruchu na wiek uchwycony
Skrobany po włosach pinezką
Na cichą tułaczkę zrodzony
I podał ktoś cichą pompkę do raju
Szepnąwszy coś „Salvador Dali”
Słyszałem portrety stękały pod nosem
Basquiat nas wszystkich ocali

Tępy świat, baskijski kwiat

W bokserskim ringu z Warholem
Wpisany w popowe graffiti
Kto wie co pragnął przekazać
Poeta w ostatnim antyku
I podał ktoś złoty telefon do domu
Nie uprzedzając że pali
Koślawe dłonie i markotne skronie
Każdy kto czuje się mały

Tępy świat, baskijski kwiat
Ile wypłowiałych lat
I futurystycznych krat

"Short One"

I’m thinking of a poem
the wind blew away
you can still find the words
in every dictionary
the plot in every love song
the gist on every tombstone
I’m grateful that the wind
blew the lines away
circulated them round the world
made communication
simpler
did you hear the wind howl this morning?
what did it say?
it was not one, but at least a million
simultaneously whispered poems
that made all this noise
and you say poets are seldom heard
in this city, and I thought
I lost a poem