"Slums of Berlin"

I flipped the slums of Berlin
for a small countryside church
Metropolis for
Georg John's birthplace
Nibelungen
for Lana del Rey
& other names & slogans for love
that's not sawdust
grind

oh, and Eno
for
radio

I laughed in that church - cause the
priest didn't know
my tune, and now I have to learn
his

best trips
are
accidents - ask the famous
a-bomb
London's next
first flight sandpit paper

philosophy? redundant
in the great dawn
of sane

with joy
I flipped U-bahns
for a convertible
hot stripped streets for country roads
pale neons for
railroads
speed for adrenaline drive
taxi drivers
for a chauffeur star
driving me round
like a king

I don't regret
the slums of
Berlin

they showed me where I belong
not
in the courtesy
of
disasters - fake friendship
of tongues
speaking only of
failure

my star showed me music
as I expected it to
be
& fuck guitars
in the right place, safe
on a woman's lap
breathing the petrol

writing songs for later

to show the children
some tricks, & prove that rock stars were dead
long before
Elvis was born

to save new generations
from monstrosities
of art
& the parody of
ego

"Medieval Blonde" - full poetry chapbook.

„Medieval Blondes #3 & 39”

something else / heroes gods for glimpse
for keeps
learning shapes your times
a dwarf beginning
flowing smiles from night you might
lay learn xenochrony
flying on my tooth
promoting will of time

we don’t need fools / working up old movies
keeping hanging sword ventilators
weirdest cheap tricks
but she’s his music
was not gossip, go!
betray me caught on unlucky
friends

whoever, dude
but now
don’t drive with her
keep the jive
sail me a coat around
show me your scripts
to limitless borders
we’re both jazz fingers
just that you're dead

please remember you’re into the outside
of her love

streetlight smiles bangs telling of censored soldiers are bones sing scream through:
maim me all night
long

„Leashed Wonder”

we are magma feathers
so dare be somebody
way to weren’t talking
you knew cheap
b-movie sublime
her beauty
him
through her ways,
dreams
often dead radios
hats high on sisters
on the oh, you’re looking cosmic halls
keep building!
of every limitless judge's face
of found in for catching Fiat cars
the dew, a handsome
jam knew the way
enough for seen
sitting in the dirtiest city
truth
she’s just the sun any priest rules out
of
love
enjoy borders
keeping
movie beast

„Released/Receptive”

serpent’s tongue trees gleaming at war
she late/again
we’ve sang come mighty stoned
I had this planet once
rattle killing
drought
we sleep lives law out of the sell out
sell me moons
now
I’m learning deceiving
take me, ghetto window
out the silence,
mind’s horizon streets
true world
secretly weeps nuclear winters
while me & Chrome Angel
long sunset, but I’m through
now
peeling straw this dude's clear
mirror
we two, released
he, one
receptive

„A Giant”

I’m digging globetrotting, mindboggling young fields
if you, looking live
ancient poems sunrays melting, seen teardrops to sunrise
don’t
you
lovely little keep growing
always from loneliest dogs
to social
wallflowers
last till dawn
Sunday afternoon
one night freedom’s
hand for the times
won’t go flowing? oh, it will
you take frail chrome lightning
that finally sees me
talking of protest
but couldn’t hear libraries of people
the weight of their scrapbooks
big me moving
will hear it just as we are
generic lamps, door
was in all this growing
limitless sweet baby
painting levees
if time
points carefully
backwards

„Limitless Blood Second”

Have power power
of dying
jam session judges are praising
power
of living

she’s urban wasteland me
be, man you know
guess suggestions creations break
really made high rise it only causes forms
show me a dream loud enough to wish for
I never write, baby,
no need for entry
your lady-lake walls borders you were built of journalist’s paint
hearted infinitely so perfect longest trip I mean it
chrome me to proper language
watch more
but please remember
to ride power
stations sweet
you are writing me
no paint, make people
dine finally dine
now on the street
oh can I?
so surprise me with a hand
ungloved

„Tape Dawn Broke”

you’re sure brain orgasm
wish I but bit
we’re both their bullshit
a bigger unlucky ear for one way paradise calls
quiet for artiste putting half dead coming
home to call you
around my daughter sunrise
far too law calls
block no confession we are our last book
the pocket
& trial
we too don’t need law stories
channeled love & majestic man’s wipe out
it’s just reels
what tape
which
tape dawn broke our with
beside me weedy brain all except spread
being big one
people know at once on open open! you ever pleasing giant but double-check
the news before you
dance with long kind rain stick, chances are blood keeps paradise sane, your mad wall, I’m never clean ask, ask for a boat! a model, or maim me
anyway, don’t smile
so I remain in limits
first
but
foremost

„Night Anew”

God, we drifted far from acknowledging or/what
was keeping all American kids rolling through
is they cut
this their demon
got the house now
slow down
go deep
w/ falling defunct screaming
old Hindu chance to oh! why she takes me
to every band's show
as sidekick trumpet talked to
we’re running
or a carpet shooting/soothing globe
that leaves drunken trails if alive or speaks of gods frail
nightpiece
mouthpiece
to be angel, caravan would
don’t the urban mix this future
hearts in would you caravan your friends, I’m NY sights closed for dinner now talking their goals price of typing eulogies on your passion
alien time
no Vaseline
you let the sky, highways carrying a planet lasting ‘til concept is beds, in - it’s doing life
good, you say
from a machine comes writing
in hotels you betray me
it’s love
coming later
wants you
laying all night ideas once that starts, I’m the night
anew

„Yes She's Ships”

no-one said I’m older
songs on your trails
weird turned to way too
hate while wish too good to your
rhythms
Indian maddest sort
with you I'm fighting flat
all I can

won’t you go jangling through their ancient birds
heavy on cheapest purple
pills on destruction bullshit lives where faces once remembered
crack before pain, politicians words women
howl chants on/for
I admit
cutting/ass
hurt her ship
no need for tits, kid I'm far from telling

his/
my
lines
every priceless „no” she says, would take one quote to make stiff constructions burn like
there is sun
or there was will

„Freezing”

saw it, you say
Nubian
spaceship
& a child from which blood you can pay your earth
now

awaiting
know with whom I dance
gold mine filled with / around my dead
freezing in satellites
saw/read used
feet of a skating man
here to where it’s coming
war? & boundless blowing
peaceful naked children
yes, & a gun dream
risen, now fallen race
one I love
can look like me be me or of my wisdom – I call foolishness
freezing in seaweeds

I’m skating the devil
sacred fire untouched
fragile, I know
we're just late, honey
dew what’s this?
I know in you
city city I’m winning
we’ll stratosphere
this system

„Waste of Telescopes”

eggshells break
but
rockets remains in mousetraps of sky
we two
& globe vision comets
you’re to glide, child
I’m sound
buzzed space last night in archaeology waits what I kissed
its might your soul
from above
castles bubbles: they're time
made of time

I’m coming
into gardens comic iconic
born on a song
I learned hanging high in parks city
crashed screaming madly down
at dawn villains
where I'll never save the blues, sure I was with the folk
tune cosmic
heads shapeshifter
within sky buckets hold
me

stars burn, man, burn
ing man
start age city love doctors
technicized, ostracized, walking screaming madly & time
of no end, a fragrance of -carry my source-
iodide free sauerkraut
so forsake the
touch - let
go riding

I’m not power desert / too much of a hippie, nighttime home guru of the new wine
broken mammal my lady's
awful
waste of telescopes

5 poems.

Oberbaumbrücke

Success
I follow the golden stairs
Beat
Within the temple

Fear
Love on wings of gloom
Moan
All was these am I

Gleam
Nightfall lamp returns
Wild
Burdened cold twilight

Sick
Thru the world on hands and eyes
Touch
Stumbling archangels weep

Love
Roaming stranger silence
Tears
Marble full moon pyres

Walls
One face and the sky
Lips
Berlin, second class

Here’s peace
I rarely leave this place

Deepen the Distance

Storming culpable American bars & cafes
with the bride & curse
of midnight boogie guitars
singing out life in whispered lo-fi spasms
highways of ready-made boys
trapped in her scarf
stage imminent angel-hawkers
in silken runaround alphabet hands
waves of deafening staccato
loser/poet eulogies

Sleeping long in the wintertime, under her hat
longer in the summer, even, in her straw umbrella
butterflies do this, she said – they also cry out, habitually
when they write my new set of lyrics

She says:
often when the burgundy lightbulbs dim
all unimportant lights exit stage
& songs projected on ego screens
manner & deepen the distance we shared
you lowdown poky apostle
I think of stars in the rain
little prospects of sand

She-God

Through open portals of truth
Pass archangel dark
I find you anew

In muffled lust
The lips that press
Our stars anew

Your heavy eyelids
Nodding in heaven
Slyly towards the moon

Your hand out of view
The quiet stay
A town somewhere is burning

The She-God
Of ancient Egyptians
My wind-flung lover

Caterpillar Mountains

I should write about mountains
challenges, expeditions
not about loneliness of antennas in spike
chrome dusk, however, am disputing
w/ them often, and it obliges a...

cut open
scene
filth

...not easy to change your profession
storm CAT
caps & feel repulsion
in the night-abyss cinema
death draws more than
the sky
in the morning such as the...
wait!
I do not even want to be *dreaming* about
mountains
careful,
being mindful
not to write

1883

Towering corpses clothe you
melancholy ships
say farewell to the gallery
you’re fancy half-shut flower
promontory of lips
ripples on gray leaves
lilies in autumn silence
deep-asleep, I know it’ll snow
below our grass, so pale
the mirror holy, golden wavering
flame, deep sunset fields
where broken music appears
with tropical ancient readings
suffer some or down you stop
in curly dreamful 1883

"I Died in Berlin: The Acid Poems" - Complete poetry chapbook.

To-Fifths

neon signs-is
not their night
not so much
eternal cafes-not
at all
blaze hot light
cheap women-not
easy to
find
if you don't know
the exact
address
of fury
from vending machines
cigarettes glassy
emerges, a slimy
palm, claw actually
& a pack of Marlboro
people-smoke to
think monsters-all
we buried her
to-fifths

Lunch God

portrait, in twenty-one variations
doggerel image
saved-the same words
limited vocabulary
too little energy to pick out
fish, too little inspiration to create

the metaphor, there are too many reasoned
ready, not validating, open the
dictionaries
& wade in what's vulgar
learning that simple language
ridiculous!
subliminal fishermen
still get the same bones
in the meantime, kefir time + scavengers in leaded petrol
lunched with the body
of God

September 2008

me at fifteen
me at hundred again
heaps of has
did
gone mad, steady
city voice wiped free

new flat
new car
television face
her holy
initials
bagful of no
words
non-feathered cowards
left out
both persons mistaken
for drifting

me at birth
me at death
just words
breathing fleshless
feet up
coating years
in difference rippled
between

I died in Berlin
September 2008

Good Luck

uncomfortable questions
heard three streets away/or on the phone
inspire me to eat
at a small, cozy
Italian pizzeria, where immediately
I was offered a job -
wiping tables, serving pizza
with millions of unfinished
songs above my head, with the prospect of work
for vain brand for many long
years, but I always liked Italians, so
I accepted the deal

turned out the joint was guise
for local Mafia
I've always had good luck
Modern Trains

steel blood poured on the platform
elegant girl bounces
terrified-crowd coughs w/ laughter
it's just a "Yester" train , I whisper
taking away the ghosts from the deck
I also laugh, but w/ a drool of
mechanical croaking frogs

oh, it is not known
in the country from which I come
to our blood poured earlier
it's no shock
just
modern trains

Caterpillar Mountains

I should write about mountains
challenges, expeditions
not about loneliness of antennas in spike
chrome dusk, however, am disputing
w/ them often, and it obliges a...

cut open
scene
filth

...not easy to change your profession
storm CAT
caps & feel repulsion
in the night-abyss cinema
death draws more than
the sky
in the morning such as the...
wait!
I do not even want to be *dreaming* about
mountains
careful,
being mindful
not to write

Pulse Berlin

pulse
Berlin
curse
or swim
song or storm
or lady

must listen to
Lakomy
bury me later

Slave Shore Blues

a slave site, don't despair-done
your skull, kick start the last candle
today, the first night of the lone vigils
we set up the African guards
reels under your window
& tales of Satan in the basement
go graciously after bike
drive off in Kreuzberg torch
Chuck Berry kneeling
at the top of an empty church
we listened to him often this winter
snow fell when sirens sounded sirens
then it was too late to
form
reflections from the shore

Cloud Dictatorship

before someone puts out
another
monument
let us remember,
it's just newspaper
clippings

milk horses
pushing carriages &
late light bulbs
reach in the end for the purpose of
Marxist monks
intently watching
gas murder

that's setting their robes
on water
is that worth all this
chaos worth all
that peace, swim
in, be in?

keep in mind, is it not better
to honor the cloud?
today's monument
tomorrow's insult
today's freedom
tomorrow's dictatorship

Limit Is Now

I'm so burnt out, said the young man
arched in pancake keyholes
of onpouring orgasm
oh brave yesteryear's cricket!

notebooks w/out explanations
coffins w/out
burial
market me now
P.R. Me
mail me
Waldo – limit is
NOW

People Of The East

U-bahn
S-bahn
tram
linear meeting
empty seats
clerical tonnes
loose
semantically
discussion
the roots of rock'n ' roll
anonymous Black man "you
want to twist?"
syncopated keys birds
Swans frosted
dark heavy beer
light heart donors
houses without flaws, these open forever, smeared
w/ camels' blood, narcotic visions
of the people
of the East

River Flare Receiver

My coat (a)musing-what remains
in this body, which
wrote off the pen
what hasn't been discovered
in the after math
shambles of the century
who climbed to the top of the smartest
threw angel
danger muddle
gutter
idolized ghosts
Berlin's shortcomings, thought politicians
took pride in the winding-
up of the flea
Communist construction
and in the Palace - still - blaring music, crumb power
throws a flare on the river
si,
tar

Mime Mime

MIMe launches performance
& the onstilts dancers
rave
on the other side-someone puts
sculpture, another visionary
deconstructs the wasteland
what a threadbare slogan-in
nothing is empty, everything's back to the form
obey her tramps explored step
by step & bards
I make songs in humble
quadruplets, classic European
rhythms, rhymes greedimperious
few years earlier, roll virus isolation
by understreet secret rooms
contagious answering machines
& eternal rush of feathers of all
I scored
until the death of his death
amen

Thank You, Sexy

a couple of lives / 1 day ago
she said
"your poems are nothing"
& what should they be?
what's happening now,
what's special?
are kings and heroes born?
what topic does not go
well
with faint/fastest screens
news
papers?
so if yours "are nothing"
already means "pulse of existence"
then thank you for the
compliment,
sexy

No Sonnets, Thank You

cloud, o cloud - where today will
you
carry
my body? yesterday
I was with your
drift womb
it could accept an
apology

I stayed for a week
not finished the promised
line, anyway
I never wrote sonnets
a sleazy excuse
I know
the roof, the roof is where
today I'll dive in bio-
dump & who would lend a warm
jacket, I could get drunk
in Berlin
Görlitzer Park
too much, I want to say it in one
row

the Moon, the Moon, take
my shadow
home
and make it
good tea

We Like It

as if I didn't know who
angered his
hair, the
surer I am who rode the u-bahn
I, what I, in the opposite direction
asking uncomfortable questions
to assigned conductors
I am yesterday's-gazingly, groan in the blank
eyes of a woman in designer suit
listening to Gypsy
musicians -

- in Irish repertoire
& my time was up
I feel sorry for the young man
whose time has not yet started
cut shaving & trickles of blood
still hang on the chin

Sofa Hippie

you used all the bodies, love
walked
all bridges
scratched all stars
& what's down there in your hand? could it be the
continents
changed course? god bless the world
squandered
love? why else would you stand
buy irons
work shops

flee from eyes
seeking the place
of next conquest?
if I -had it- I would want this tasty morsel
you squandered
& would have to fall dead

what kind of monster would like to still-energy
power, possession
& yet his name was Hippie
so naked & innocent/48v in motorbike rim -
a sofa.

Paid Crap

When only routine knocks
to the licorice door, & threadbare
idiom mills eyes yesterday's
cigarette, it is time to
retire

maybe for a couple
years, forget about existence
of & "being
yourself" - a horrendously amateur
job, so that filling it
digests phlegm dawn

to yesterday's womb
Today - just pavement were a homeless bum
becomes a bassist & fires
flame funk machines

from that moment on
I count on anything - I'll give him
your business card – I hope
he drops by to the
studio

News from the City

irrelevant bord
ers industrial walls
eaux
ankle square cubics woodcut
ters, steerless s
hips
tamine
graves & kebab, Arcanoa & pipes, bells
the empty church — comes at mid
night
watch
dumb gu
y,
tter,
disembodied laster
sits in my rocking chair
fires my grandpa's
pipe

oh, I am surprised the "hash?", yes, I am
and today we'll talk?
starts heartbeat, pushes the pipe, smoke gushes from his
hat, "I bring news from the city"

Colleagues

I dropped the busker brand, I would love to be him
be 50 again
I was, however, much older, & the young man sighed
again
„I'm a loser-boy, boy”
I don't have a script of life
by nature – it is not a matter of years, or burnout, but
look at me, 500y/o carrion
that still smells
of
dawn perfume
& never has enough
of
informed, legitimate
kicks in the back
from older, compliant
colleagues.

Hymn to Her

the reality!
vegan bar, 2 teas
endive salad
meditation of her January morning
better than millions of unnecessary lines
this particular mix of minimalist
melodies & sex that can only exist here
& now, in incarnation of time
in milliseconds given to her
by all the Bodhisattvas, somewhere
between one bounce of her skirt & cold steamcloud of her mouth
toying the pastel purple
of moonrise
she, the night current
go(i)ng

oh, ring finger of night
left handed green openwork
Katherine
open the door!, sprinkled with rust
& loneliness – so, boldly, as befits a lady,
shaking her hips, she enters the „Little Zoo”,
passing through vintage shops, hash ‚Dam cafés,
Seventh-day Adventist church,
leather tiled drugstores, torn ragged warehouses,
cut canvas ateliers,
vegetarian restaurants, dig katzenjammer patios
paving slabs in billions, snobs & drunks
& pigeons & rats
meaningless storm cats
busking/screwing on the piss-covered stairs
cut back to the first scene
was midnight

she only tastes a tease
of a fourth element, now pushing bravely up
already close to absolute
over which she can only
elevate
to void bliss
or a universe, or saint madgirl
feasting on
toxic districts, petrifying herself
to toothpicks
it is no longer, however, relevant
neither this nor that road
because here, in „Little Zoo”, in a silly silver cage,
a wintry sedated, tufted
cockatoo, cries
out a Coleman
solo
& Katherine laughs sweetly, un
certain

„oh, nirvana!” – a billion pa
wing slabs cry,
cry back softly at her
&
she remembers the past life:
7 years of love, free, but never in
Nepal, or sweet, though
loved
as only a wise man can love,
the loves that he loved
& thing – the things he called things
& now
at the end of my flesh line
I give up to
nonsense
where everything belongs:
her hand
& parks of childhood
enlightened by laughter
of cruel reviewary
ships – passing us slowly,
carelessly
anonymously

nakedly emerging
in full bloom gaze
behind the dawn clouds, wild crescent
burst into loud, cheap winechicken laughter, „Bridges!
Show me some!”
there are no, Buddha babies,
„forms finite”, „ideas”, or „make senses”
& „bridges”?
you scream „Show me!”
I jokingly record
a song:
best of all – there is no Buddha, no lotus
flowers, which sprang from under his
proverbial feet
so Buddha babies, what have you pursued?

ain’t the trick
to wake up,
buy a cockatoo,
eat your salad & pay the right price?
perhaps there’s more, as in sea
or space songs… but one satori’s enough
so sell it back
to your hunter
he paid the twice price
already

we cut now back to the scene
years later

yes, all love creatures seemed to say „hello”
to her hungry spirit vagabonding
the lightless
hour
only I said „goodbye”, &, easy to tell, it worked out
in the end
that’s only now, I’m guessing, beginning

"Before I was an Angel"

I remember jungles in the morn mist
giant stars on exodus
angels, butterflies in armor
shooting red squares
of patience, wait…
beaten to death by police
somehow I passed through
saw black&white scenes
in the courtroom – judges yelling
this&that, policemen&doctors marching in line
bringing the zone to life
giving out straitjackets of fog
glasses of official vision
inhabitants seem happy, deafened w/ triangular
alien leeches in food & beverages,
consumed daily w/ pride, saluting
the homeland, pierced on spikes
of amusement, drowned in puke of entertainment
fooled by the steel-colored sky, who controls the
opiate controls the future
what was it anyway? birth on this planet
is punishment, man, such punishment is satori:
when you’ve seen the absolute reality
trivial monsters of power won’t rule you
they’re nothing, cowards of shade
toying the id their doctors prescribed me
images? I’ve got’em, lots enough to punish
the punishing cogs, small rat-faced
Goebbels-shaped pricks of inertia
late for the 3rd world war
plotting revolutions in introverted windowless
cabinets, crawling on
words? lots enough to disarm the police states
of the world, with one spit of poison
per 20 million dead pigs
drugs? I am the walking drug – causing death
in the 3rd world druglands
to see children reborn in civilized countries
I should’ve seen the masters, masters of
control, but all I’ve seen were madmen switching
roles with leaders, leaders chained to liberty’s
ankle, raising from the carpet some scumbag dirthole
shat on, happy in a locale
of absence – what was it anyway? do I wanna see this
world, after I was an angel? do I wanna see this, before
I was an angel? it’s a madhouse! deathcamp! funfair!
escape! escape! you will be angels too
but not if you won’t notice

"The Museum Countenance"

dog leash hydrant sunshine
beam of asphalt wisdom
seeing Christ face in this great cloud there
whatever winters your face
whatever opiates me
note after note, night after
night daybreak sleepwalk
I couldn’t care less
and call these corners “honey”
language without time
symbols without backgrounds
ghosts dancing
on valium
filmed from soapy windows
unconscious poor angel beings
on platforms, expecting horizons
twixt stations, emperor
whimsical beginnings
smiling mellow smiles
a sum of simple-minded lifetimes
focused on the perfect
shot erected scene steel
makes my evenings interesting
diplomatic curators of vision
slowly lose the journey
in sympathetic clouds of
forbidden districts
roaming with
beasts of museum countenance

"Unbreakable Spirit"

He who lives in Getz’s solo
broken colored glass
half-broken windowpanes
tangled sorely in a ball of
surgical threads

he who sleeps w/ Verlaine
breathing underwater
nourished by the sun’s afterglow

he who speaks w/ mice
singing pavement cantatas
w/ a tail

he who walks
the city tops
trawling under its puddles
of resignation
as in the daily breeze

he who confronts the shadow
dancing
in smoky cabaret
partitions
in the red light
of cancan

he who never sleeps
& never changes rags
looking everywhere
where refusal can lurk
radical
call & response
 
he who copulates w/ angels
to trade them later
w/ demons
for a handful of
budget
cigs

he who never dies
& never really lived
he who calculates maneuvers
of self-destruction

he who knows
& feeds supreme
pigeons of rhythm
burping loudly
smiling

he who lost everything
he to whom Buddha
looks up to

"Cliffs of Victoria"

cliff-like slow man – Dante creature
across the western terror
crawls, endless supply
of loneliness
in unclean tubes
of words
forming snow bird
grotesque

oblivion was the tangent
expression
circumstances
trial
“we are the end” – imbecile
voice, boiling

lifeless hemispheres
whine
some were eyes of the city
living
expression

patience was the call girl
interesting
discontented
bitterness
“she is the way” – buried
height Victoria

Ride the Flower U-Bahn

Berlin, four seconds to midnight
happy routes took beastly
course, straight to
modern heaven, dismissing the post-
wise pill droppers apply
to their suits, honey months
passing with the show girls
young ears cheeks in circle
modern heaven

is there “plan two”, in case
the big smoking arm of law
ray guns wiser fingers
beginning station again, beginning
boy and line – hurrying not to miss
the flower u-bahn
kiss the flower u-bahn

by common blood
we’re dead civilization
impelled by facileknowledge
grey down silhouettes
smoking from the all-knowing
stand skull
drilled into locks
on menagerie cells –
young skulls learning
inside

invincible tombs
watch busy bare years
an agony