Słowa-łódki

Słowa-łódki
wschód słońca na Maui
w kolorze wiśni
zapałczane wulkany
medytacja mnicha w ich cieniu
cisza
tylko ptaki w swobodnej muzyce
nikt nie notuje tonacji
kto wie,
może czuwa przedwieczny reżyser
i samotnie
intonuje słońce

Prymitywna poezja wschodu
dalekie drogi Afryki
tajemnicze mosty z namiotów księżycowych
spłukane
rzeką w pierwiastek
ktoś patrzy w dół urwiska
czy tam w ogóle ktoś był
tarcza jego zegarka zmienia w pomarańczę
każdego, kto policzył czas

Tancerze i muzykanci Maroka
olewają wasz rock'n'roll
mają własne odcienie boogie
praktykowane od tysiącleci
nikt nie zmierzył nigdy odległości
dźwięku białasa od plemion
nikt nie odważył się zagrać
dodatkowej nuty
nad ranem
przejść mostem fletów
i lampionów duszy
zdmuchnij świece, a odór pozostanie
praktykowane piękno umiera
jeśli grasz zbyt gęsto
umierasz z nim i do niego

Słowa-łódki
zabiorą cię wszędzie
wszędzie tam
gdzie pragniesz
nie wiedząc i/lub
zapominając
o pragnieniu

Oko Poezji

Przemyć oko poezji
spłukać się do samego zenitu
zdrzemnąć się do zera
wypoczętym ruszyć w duszę
z gitarą
przechodzony instrument
klisza na kliszy
ale kocham to uczucie
ślizgających się palców
podobnie kobiety, ale na takie uciechy
mnie zwyczajnie
nie stać
a droga dnia
jest zbyt jasna

Przemyć koloryt nieba
utonąć w jego wspaniałomyślności
odlecieć na wyspie jazzu
dalej w archipelag
oko poezji jest zmyłką
trefną historią
nikt nie czyta wierszy
kiedy płonie serce
skupione
na lustrach w barze
musisz wyjechać z Europy
teraz, jak najszybciej
błysk, piorun, zapomnienie

Przemyć podróż
odetchnąć na jej stokach
skoczyć niżej i dalej
niż zbawienna konkurencja
każdy wypatruje szansy z kojotami
kiedy sięga po pióro
i głupcy piszą jak świnie
co powiedział Artaud
tak, czy inaczej w formie
wybitne elektrowstrząsy
dla teoretyka teatru
kto przemył jego rany

Przemyć oko poezji...
i jaki głupiec pozostanie
na posterunku
swojej strzelby, domu, świąt bożego narodzenia
Halloween
i innych bzdurnych okazji
myślę, że nikt
jest ciemno
ja przynajmniej
nie zamierzam tu
zostać

Przestrzeń

Nie ograniczasz się do jednej przestrzeni
jest wiele przestrzeni
jest wiele narodzin
jest wiele śmierci
zapytaj Strażnika
o drogę
a droga objawi się sama
w wiśniowych chmurach świtu

***

Całą noc grałem na organach kościelnych
były tam też flety
podświadome
tęcze dźwięku i komunikacji,
szyfru
jakim objawieniem można przestać grać
muzyka
cichy nektar duszy

***

Posłuchaj, bracie Ziemskiej Krwi
to do Ciebie te słowa kieruje
zmierzch
i od Ciebie pochodzi zło tej planety
wypleń je w dobie wielkiej ciszy
aby nazajutrz
radować się
nową Przestrzenią

Villains Blink Twice (Plastic)

time, erupted frequency of life – rainbows acoustic over simple
fields, where sheep eat mushrooms
thinking – we belong here,

an astral voyager stoops down from his ship, no sails visible,
he looks upon the fields and sighs
Earth
blues is sung a sun valley lower

sheep are men to him or her, the traveler in erupted
frequency of time – buildings concrete over simple
planets, covered in moss
of beginnings – where twilights collapse in murmur
of a terrified passenger

flight of the heron
diamonds in nightfall flowers

villains blink twice

oh, what’s to do with time and tales and men and moments
and glimpses
storms unique and patterns heavy, metaphoric rainfalls of death
roll over life
here comes Buddha

naked in a glimpse of blink
pale
irrelevant
yet pure

erupted valley of plastic.

Opal

Your lips
Like butterflies in daze
You're a haze
Of hips
And kisses late and lazy
Starlit bronze and sweet

Opal
If that's your name
Opal
Will we remain
More than casual refrains

Your stars shine above me
I drink them with a straw of clouds
I'm proud
To have you love me
In this moonlit bar
We call Earth
Or rebirth

Opal
If that's your name
Opal
Will we remain
More than casual refrains

I miss your touch in the evening
But in the morning we go travel
And moons in your navel unravel
A cloudless sky
For me to gaze upon
And later maybe fly

Through Opal
If that's your name
Opal
Will we remain
More than casual refrains

"Big Beat Hearts" - complete poetry chapbook.

Russian Blocks in the Middle of Nowhere

office pop diggin’ erect
dancing on a comet –
dust tentacles glitter
pale lobotomy & acid, sucker
motor
Fiats
levitating
in the Autumn
sky
village scoff pushin' dawn
you can
shoot
it
w/ your ears wide open
& watch
your skin
turn
a cold war
shade of
amoeba
nuclear glory condo
burnin'
like a redneck
barbecue
quite common now
in these geographical
circumstances
someone sold us
this Western dream
where intelligence
is only part of
an agency's name
not a
human
state
we don't need no
intellectuals
you should all
be in prison
or in
psychiatric wards
Stalin
knew
how to deal
w/ you

industry
builds
like an
octopus
it's an insect
invader
office girls standin' in defect
where someone built
blocks in the
middle of nowhere
if nowhere means
fields of corn
& a few huts
in the middle
of
Russia
or
Arkansas
or
this
place

Bea

with a tepaphone vegetatory call
weakness for French
solar tea
pink sunglasses
various lipstick colors
cut ups, she transmits now – sun
within whose over life fools?
girl way strip minute
snake strike liquid to colliding shapes
 dark how again
 was away, muscles marked theremin
music
from the dark side of the moon
while Bea
by many man more
considered
the bird-like startled blue-catching starlet
sense moon signs of “so I am!”
and, so she was; someone by whom you know narrow
paths to
desire crushing answers
spontaneous, times not these,
just excited but which me?
the one she captured?
 everyone except Charon
on board!
there's a funky idea we have
for your old, flamboyant id
where
acceptance sighs dry
bare and pink when violin debts
over valuable hells
of your childhood
just remember me and the music we made
while everyone thought it was
love – to describe you
is useless.

The Festival

You’re a star child roaming free
You’re the song of life
…
Speak the truth and glow like sun
Get rid of ego’s pride
…
we gathered here to sing and harvest soul, freedom where wings of it exist
in retroidyllic dreams
on love’s white tide over acid skies
naturally garden high
skull highway to the sky
…
from freedom in our skulls, slipping from the stage we’ve built
jumping from Jupiter sky – down…dawn on sunset
in our hair, brilliant spheres, down, to photographic rain
half a million people danced, or more, beautifully stoned
but no one’s really there
or was where
we dared to dare
sift
phonographic sands
with butterfly brains
…
Join us here in pearls of rain –
you’ll never be the same
…
Pity sad souls wasting daybreak
For pain are they to blame
…
in freedom’s dream and love’s white tide we began to sing
of mountains cold’s live days’ galore
where everything was green
cops memorized a million deaths
we survived before
may no fear invade your heart
even when you walk alone
…
younger, bolder, truer than
all the old lies we’ve been told
no need for new revolutions
at the festival
…
no price tags on clear blue sky
sun bonfire or a pyre
find your own Satori there
in it thunderous morning skulls
conspire

Big Beat Heart

some vile movies
poor quality tapes
ripped from the head of the paradox

they fill a jug of Polish flowers
Polish bells
Polish books & records

we improvise like always, on their innocent
magnet, mazed & incoherent beer rave
tired, stoned, but serious
writing poems
about the beefy child skull fabric, fed luncheon meat
& religion
on top of which
all trippy sinners
find peace in a local church, in tranquil boobs of sport, in parks
or I don't care where, but elsewhere
& forget about
art & god
watching football games
Eurovision
birthdays

music fills the backbone silence
w/ acoustic currents of disaster
but nobody's listening to the groove

instead, we sculpt crazy haircuts
repetitive news
& death
in funfair mirrors
distracted by video angels
soaring high in prime time
exhaustiveness, over buttons to push
& ads to skip through
meaningless
slave corporate lives
worth not even half the dirt under your fingernails

someone steals a candle
from debt orchard
a smile
from a policeman
& moves on

a killer
thinking he found me

dressed up in books he walks on unnoticed
through bone pulp
wilderness
broken
heartless frames
stained w/ morning rain
& into my
big beat heart

Sky-Trotter

weed animal breed collect inspect the seed
which should be grain but we're
out of
anything real, organic/with parameters/
so, we feast on red sick weed, oceanic
nuclear tweed
of future tribes injecting this poison
direct
lie, ly, sing syllables of death
while you still have time
to voice them in an unfree void
of picturesque torment atrocity
heed, ascend, but heal, descent
from high orbit safe rooms
and witness whatever
this planet still has
in store galactic markt
for the tiny
sky-trotter
inside us
customer
of Earth Zoo, dying
in piles of clothes
sold burning.

We Don’t Dance

We creep past the U-bahn, bend under lights
Sleep in the cafes, sentimental dives
Keeping what is ours always in plain sight
Virus of our liver, sugar of your eyes
Speed all over shady alleys, slow real tide
Life is not just rhythm, death is not a chance
This is why we’re underground
Writing when you dance – and we, we just
Romance – revolution’s trance – the Dalai Lama
Whorehouse, general’s fireplace

Reading Bild in the shade

antediluvian cities
erect sax
in the jungle
beyond the narrative
there are no confessions

deadly alive
the realistic rover smiles

sulky soma of awakening

every soul radiant

flames of your burden on a train
struggling notes
struggling to play in tune
sounds blessed on plain joints
coffee in the bass crater
where you should
only
make noise
noise
more noise

what have you done to my daytime?
reading Bild
in the shade
survivatory
sullen
throat space

singing:
we're reading
Bild in the shade

controls shine softly
where sun once stood
where we had no difficulties
with language
towering sea experiments
& ambrosia women

now we just listen
to Prince
& fuck 'til life
& everything
we touched
is
forgotten

Narcocorridos

Iza finds German noise tapes for me
recently
from Mexico
came a bonus of drug lord chansons
she took back home
from the latest trip
sung heroically they describe
the taste in my mouth
when I write poems
it's nothing close to death
or drugs or earth
but heavens localized tripodically
among my eyes, and in front
of the third one
that I gaze out in to search for
narcocorridos' plot
it's similarly fragrant
and vagrantly familiar
brings back echoes
I could draw on Greek monuments
instruments
from back in time
when she found the first German
noise tape for me
and it'll take me 30 good years
to listen to everything
she brings to my attention
but
oh, it's the cops outside
must be looking for me
they always do when the winter comes
I've got to sleep roomless
in case of another
frost bite
clotheless
in case they want to
talk me warmly
in.

Raja’s Blues

You know Raja’s got the backbone, got the frontbone too
He got blood of alligators and a case of hoochie-coo
And he’s pale like morning sunlight, faster that any known light
Sounds good without any amps, fake reasons to survive
White volume and electric keyboards will never crowd his floor
Smaller than an ant, much greater than the world

Raja’s got one morning ahead of you and yours
All you’s got are curtains, he controls the doors
Domino demons in action, carpenters of fact
Seldom shares of kindness say that Raja’s love’s a mess

Change food for corny daggers, originals can’t confess
Consciousness of guilty paralyzed with death
Fear sleeps in your rearview mirror, where Raja takes a rest
Bathed in bubbled certainties, fortunes of your wooden vests

Raja’s got ladies by a million talking and walking the blues
He learned it before you painted him white, or repaid his sacred dues
You can pay for Raja’s thoughts later, after he’s done with atomic clouds
And former space age clowns

This Place is Full of Crosses

wait, babe
I never carried crosses
unless ’twas the Southern Cross
light & light years ago
sowing humanity on
distant planets
ghastly big stepping stone years
of death-rebirth
mistakes
&
accidents
messiahs
&
madmen
Jesus was a schizophrenic
that's
all
today he'd be simply
diagnosed
& kept safe
in a room

but this place
is full of crosses
and endless crucifixions
Nova
style

supernova

they like their things big
bigger boys
need
bigger toys
& clone-children
& evolution
& macho
meat

this place is full of crosses
you wanna stay here?
make pretty pictures?
talk religion
& crap?
go on
but
without
me

I'm a schizophrenic too, like
Jesus
so, I must be
on my
way

greetings
from a
room

Shapes of Love (To Come)

while you're waiting
we define the process
becoming the becomer
welcoming the welcomer
in shapes of love, to come, visit
leech deal
happens daily with fresh clean
hands; lynch happens on Sundays
sheltered in church bells
I hate hearing then
but hey, in the shapes of love
there's no place for them
luckily, no other music, but
tropical bird songs, is allowed
in my apartment now
I inhale the fresh winter cream
air as soft as coffee
Bea is loving to make love
to come, for us
in those shapes no deal is scary
and I sign everything, trembling
just for love, for money, for
rent, for sale, as always, in corridor
of black stars mirroring white holes
universes' energy merging
collapsing
eventually
forgetting all was us.

Dancing with the Early Stars (Me, You, Ah Pook)

I can’t stop, I’m never waiting, never wondering how or why
Living like a firecracker, dancing with the early stars
If I had another promise, if we had another land
Hopeless, cruel and wasted angels climbing up the human grave
Wings of panic, sounds of shelter – undemanding desert calls
Hear her wisdom, hear the ages – to the highway’s end you go
I can’t stop you, I can’t teach you, I can’t be your midnight guide
Cannot take you to the night’s den – hungry lions suck in your sight
Desire is vision is god, the theater, the actor, the eye
Stage dust settles down, performance is passion is blood
Me, you, Ah Pook

Gemini

I eat pickle
drink sour old beer for 2 zloty
in a Jeżyce gate
where dawn is burning pink &
every cloud is perfect
she says
„I'm fresh
& clean
so trouble me
some more”

but I
don't give a fuck, take my
beautiful Fender out of
its case, finish my beer
& play cantatas
for sky

my Georgian friend says
flip your life record
to B-side
but there's same old blues
on both
sides
so why
bother
when I can listen
to „Summer Wine”
and dream of
Natalia
ad nausea

backstage
I'm even more stoned
than on records
& crazier
than her clarinet razor

we murder Bach
talk birds
I get me another beer
someone's laughing
in the backyard

it's a nice bar
I must've left all my
troubles at home
but they'll come back
eventually
and she'll say
„I'm Gemini”
in the morning
pissing me off
even more

cause that will be the truth

Pink Planet in the Sky

game one
soft words
a single wolf cry, same cat walking
daybreak street
a distant drum pump
sweet scent rhythm pool
in forest
a child on a swing, in death park, coughing
while I smoke
winter/summer together less
walking desert illumni
rearranging structures of breath
speaking sparkling the rhythm
painting spray sky over
with mute approach
to languages leaving
packages burning
passengers lifting
airplane toxicology
from under pink planet in the sky
I watch plane's wing
until sky is the only
word
with
morning freedom
in shy sky sun
ascending over
Earth
while I am
not watching.

Ghost Bus

Take the tenement trail they’re already razing down
And the streetcars that once rode there disappeared without a sound
But one bus stop still exists, it’s a night line no one takes
Through the districts now forgotten where no neon dares to flare

You can say it’s just a ruin but there’s people all around
And the children they once raised there lost the war in ’45
Now just one bus line remembers all the ups and downs of town
It’s a shame that no one rides it when the districts’ birthdays come

So the ghost bus it could take you where no human dares to walk
And the driver he could show you how the nighttime’s engine works
While the ghost town that you witness was once crowded with young life
Lovers ran through bright lit bridges now collapsed and lost in time

Now there’s only ugly buildings filled with echoes circling round
Now there’s only ugly buildings filled with echoes circling round

Ghost of Dawn in My Empty Arms

we picked cherries
drawn pigtailed faces
hid the marker eraser
bid tour nights to the farewell of mythology
birth of reality
sometime on a bench somewhere in a tight frame
she danced, the ghost of dawn in my empty arms
again, I shook off that feeling
and exited, shy, the scenery setting
let go
we picked pages randomly
puzzling flowers
from South African soil
made collages, lost documents, not
documented
forgotten to document the obvious
choose choice matter voice over matter
over choose you lose that fuse
we picked
from out of an anarchist's textbook
in Germany, a long time
ago
I still have notes on first discovery
of poetical vision
but she keeps them floating
as songs, freely
and I like it – structure
gongs of nurture and aprons of sky
that I mention now often
sky, it's three letters to god
from a tainted dog recapsulating
the dinner space chewed breakfast
at midnight.

Omniverse

Visiting unknown forgotten cities
meeting unknown forgotten people there
doing unknown forgotten things
I spend time there in dream zone
the omniverse, the blaze I
shooting clouds from watchtowers
fragmenting souls and bodies
drifting hearts and brains
the scientist of sound and word
what's left for me
when I return to you – eyes like
a cup of coffee
ritual music playing
I turn it off
and gaze at the thrilling sky
another dream to exit
another exit to dream about
I spend time there in your arms
the ominverse, the proud flesh
cooking souls in dessert mode
for the lords of stratosphere
now they are landing
can you hear the ships?
I swear I can
see the engines.

Only in Your Mind

Strange as it seems, I’m only what you think I am
Weird as it is, I’m standing where the sun god stands
And if I had his might there’d be no nights upon our heads
But bright immortal stars
Would fill the depths of Milky Way
Shade exists
Only in your mind
Light exists
Only in your mind
Death exists
Only in your mind
Life exists
Only in your mind

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

"Viers Ze" - Complete Poetry Chapbook, 2019.

Tchaikovsky

Tchaikovsky
built us
a frequency bed
Blake – a garden
in 77 days
our nymph bought wine
& Rimbaud planted the dawn
in twelve wonderful moves

& he stood there, in new
gardens
he disappeared
when you sighed
then the pond filled with honey
and a monastery or castle, whatever
walls in the fading dawn
like wings of butterflies
they trembled in the morning breeze

Jenseitsflugmaschine

that awful
bang, the unyielding drums
of iron feet
marching
in smog

burnt
flashlights of India in the distance
bombs over flowergraves

life
telebanking
cooccupying
its stellar
bridges to utopia

parasite schemagery

turned
newspaper
lavatory

time for
exodus
from a tight broken
wounded planet

where
Death aviates
the notorious air collusion
candy

where's the real one,
consumed by our leaders?

Dawn of the Magicians (In Memory of Woodstock)

Impossible tickets

valves
were screaming like tea

pots were brushes

canvas – earthlings

jungles urbanized

in the mythical days of birth
creatures gazed, and magicians, in their dawn,
upped creation- the ultimate
downer

they used us to dig for gold
in the mines of the Nibelungen

we were those creatures:
insane tickets, one way tickets
flown like skirts
into the universe

sad creatures, pale creatures
wandering the solemn wasteland

forgetting magicians' wands
Icarus sun cliches
on
Voyager 1
gold-plated
radio

the message got home, sang Jimi at Woodstock
but really, where was it from?

Days

There are days like that and some more
similar to vodka
and quiet
there are even nights and these and those
the latter are hungry and flaccid
and weird

There are still stars and here and there
those are wonderful there, but they are wilted
those here – crazy
there are still clouds and here and there
those are there, pinnate but muddy
those here – festive

There are days and others still quite
similar to wine
and empty
there are still nights, I do not want this one anymore
I want this, though because I have to

There are days like that and some more
similar to wine
and there are days and I love those
dinner, walk, cinema

Krautrock's My Second Name (Signal)

Birth Control
on the radio
fresh waves of subterranean sanity
drill away the
last bit of brain
availa-be

watching „Rebirth of Germany”
bicycling away
from the map

I start thinking Berlin & its history
how it got there
what ruined this sun of a city

something drops off
was it my leg? mirror blankets
the snowman
Yeti
walks off
into the cube
now, that's my TV set

snow outside in June, snow inside on my carpet
marks of giant feet
burroughsing the fridge away
that must be the bubble man
waiting for admission

plug in your ear remote
transmission
starts at seven

the show starts at never
please prepare your seats
& sell the rockets back home
nobody needs them now
that krautrock's
my second name
Nepal wants my
corpse,
daughter
grows a fin
& Izabel
fucks mountains

white noise follows
infinity repeats the
signal

Shark Eats His Ice Cream in a Limo
(for Conrad Schnitzler)

come
dry radio friend
why are you absent
drugged mirage of con-stellations
drift
amazed
there is a movement among the cellular
celestiality
con-fort me
w/ bass

there was a wall once
between Zodiac & us
& sometimes the sound broke off
dim kolhozia barrier

bass
blows off the mural speaker
& fresh afro x-rays
pump the cinema volume
there are no
con-tracts
but sign me as joker
I sure have some dry
radio wit
waiting in the con-spect
for the
aummarum
wings

aum!

there they fall, like sharks
eating their ice cream
in a limo
which was an image
of something murkier
in the first
sense
or something darker
in swift a/z
zone

Opiate

I have countless combinations
bridgeheads that I know well
I have twisted fascinations
structures without structures

I have all the clouds of connotation
coils of words and strands of colors
I have vibrating combinations
cliffs of clouds and slopes

I have observation tangle
I have entire movies of quiet cities
I have plasma derivatives
I have a lot of sea larvae

I have meandering unions
streamers of blank pages
cancerous I have close-ups
cold electric fuse

Psychedelic Lollipops

I cut past the jukebox
& check the tapes
from my teenage holidays
F# D A G#
on a napkin

meanwhile,
the mason's busy
w/ tinsel rainbows
whistling away night's complexity
over a sad minor riff

harmonica wail blocks down
haunts the elevator
someone pawned my fingers
$26
& climbed the narchaotic stair to wisdom
(Africa's lion hole)

she said
my typewriter's a bitch
„keep molesting her, she
deserves it”

there won't be friends arriving
there won't be
happy birthdays
will there be peace?
doubtly so, but daughter of the street
weep elsewhere

there is room for star-reflective dresses
mirror shoes
& vagabond blankets
& that sad minor riff
somehow lifts off in space
like psychedelic music
for groove cats
regrooving
dub karma

time, in time time will be

yes
& then you'll trip elsewhere

time will be sweet forget
& psychedelic lollipops
falling from the radioactive sky

„Starship (for Stargirl)”

Eating electric
camembert
at the top of
the planet
time is a wingless nova
slurping chao
tick psych songs
neath my
hat

I open my wallet
to find a kosmische kuriere picture
of you
the star girl
-
Vril child
of galaxis

pictured
eating electric camembert
backstage
Ahpooks'
with another Burroughs' lookalike

this transfer is full of
ego
but I was
always
prepared

acid tastes funny
in the 22nd century
'specially aboard this starship

Cool

Cool breeze sometimes
raises my eyes somewhere
where the roofs end and the dark begins
antennas tremble in the wind, night fast current
smoke from her cigarette
stardust from her hands

Cool nights sometimes
raise my eyes somewhere
I do not look at sweet eyes, I do not feel nervous hands
I do not look through the smoke in her restless face
I do not hear pale thoughts,
bland angelic phrases

A Butcher Flowering Deserts

strictly European
that's summed up!

chainsmoking my way through love
lovelonging my smoke
through life
someone called me duke
I barely talked off his time

I sense trouble
on the digital autobahn
in those horrorfueled ages
moving is an unnecessary option
quite dangerous at that

I sense trouble
on the still life station
that's why I leave s-bahn
moments
before the splash

I barely have the time to laugh
at my first American jokes
or ancient
2002 tape reels
watering
knowledge

kiddo
that's all I am, still
strictly
European

maracassing through myth

a
butcher
flowering
deserts

Pretence

at times when/
tuning guitars
& coughing
I secretly, underskinly
soak w/ reverb of age
she puts warmly on

when/ turn off ashtrays
bloat around the sun
they make me whisper freedom/ all over
another night
that drifts off compass

I spin some Davis
program percussion
automata
flesh (once) in android mood,
moon
she combs her hair

I can smell
victory
& dance in the
gamma ray dawn
it was a long gray dream
that brought on this rainbow

or is it just
her pretence in the fresh
morning air

her pretence
arriving with the s-bahn

A Day Like Wings

A day like wings
veils of clouds, morning smoke
actor, cigarette and coffee
then a table, then gin
stay with him
and one more after that
Ennio will show us the movie
funny evening spleen
thin, crumpled wallets
go with him …

the arteries of the mind will explode
Thirteen is different roads
things are only things
you know the periphery – you have a key
Y-X and now.

Death Rotation

Indian told me
don’t trust one friend
the other says the same thing
I thought
a talking bike
is well worth the z-road
& a fallen spark
is worth
a gothic mirror
in which Bea fools herself
into coil queen
of cinema

much later
a communist Atlas
was my morning messenger
& beasts of slogan
my enemy
I cut'em down and drove off
naively
thinking
“Easy Rider”

I had to take a fresh turn
back from the
supermarkt cosm
drinking pale canned coffee
early bird at midnight

then
Indian told me
don’t trust one eye
the other sees the same thing
I thought
let's finally ride
but wheels stuck in plasma of birth
jerked the sequence back
roads
jumpstarted eons
of pain
& we both turned extinct species

don’t fool me twice
once is good enough for me

that's how it works

don’t fool me twice
once is good enough to fool you back

works

the
works of a death rotation

Viers Ze

Tzy viers ze?
was the 1st question in Polish
when we crossed the
river, or-
iron curtain border

you offered three translations

do you know
that we have psychedelic
balalaikas
on Melodiya LPs?

three poems?
can change the world

and the one i forgot

but one poem
read aloud on Red Square
from the „Poets for Vietnam”
anthology
couldn't bring the US troops
home

save three

my grandpa flew airplanes
his landings
were soft-
his friend was a Yankee

on their breeze you could see the wall
but never touch it

like Charlie between the trees

Heard at the bottom of the glass

Moon reflected
in the bottom of the glass
bourbon, bourbon shined
a band of idiots began to play
and then she came…

and nothing was important anymore
when she started talking
the only thing I want
it never gets boring
I want to make fireworks
sparkling in the sky
and I want to be like snow
which melts away slowly
and be like the greatest flame
which extinguishes the fastest…

oh, she said, I despise
ordinary people
when they talk about everything and nothing
they’re fucking boring
the beauty of silence is alien to them…
sometimes it is ugliness…

I said, “Honey, after all
right now you are doing what they do
you speak and speak and speak
I am still waiting for the flame… ”

the lips shone like the moon
lost in a bourbon background
why the most wonderful people
have it so rough in life
– They do not belong to this world…
– So what… I know…

then everything stopped dead
people, chairs, lamps
embarrassed by the brightness
and so far from the truth
these are just names, names, names…
be a flame, snow
bird, sky
be anything that is not anyone
die
glitter…

Curving

hey, gatekeeper
keep the change
hey, pacemaker
curl the paste

cut a poem
into the mural
sign a petition with a slow soul
song

pace is same thing here,
so is belief
in/

/side street journals
high heel click/

damn, & if religion guides you, may it shine
cause whatever guides you,
shines
& dawns are happy mirages
of your girlfriend's car
curving

why crave your serious philosophy
it's yesterday's
sour
butter

its shine is of no use to
tomorrow's
gleaming butterfly

& guides are rarities

these days

Junk Song

Agnes English:
It passes for junk today
junk passes
it has no chorus

endless drone in D
stimulating sex
asking for George's address

/politicians enter the acid room/

most unlikely psychedelic
number one
of Polka gutter

(a trace of Agnes English in my yerba)

junk laughs, transmits
the lashes
of warm Porter

-we drink beer alone together, in the warm leather scenery-

archipelago beauty
turn your eyelids brown
with butter

turn left
it is why you vote
for cold vegan
moisture

Piracy on All Frequencies

The grey brain property warden shook his head – no! – and the globe machine vanished. Stars shaken, thoughts rewritten. Someone took another waterfall for granted, and Lady Biba coughed „But we have music”, so it was written, in pale graffiti, on an anonymous brick wall next to some brutalist building. London Earth/// exclude the speaker and cut-up all frequencies, ride the vanishing globe machine. Will it pay off? The banker-manager wondered as he split my 24 dollar shares with some distant hooker on the wings of a pterodactyl, thinking it was birds of Maya or other white man’s supposed mumbo jumbo. Himalaya Heaven said the stop sign – swoooosh – the pop shit was gone from all radios, waves silent, waiting for new noise, or for nothing. Back to the daze of music as information, Lady Biba smiled. Someone has to turn off silence, the button is in your hands – but who am I, I questioned after Gysin, what are words – is it sane to try trademark what’s universal – acid/// the obvious solution, speeches of Leary faded in from the silent kitchen, and someone took off on a synthesizer – globe machine turning, new planet burning, new colors flashing on flags of Venus, passing under free festival skies. There, there – the future – swoooosh – and the pop shit was gone for good. Machines silent. Word recyclers muted. Pushbutton songwriters deaf, their pollution useless, masses buying nothing. Pop production lines evaporated. The button is/// what button? New noise was emerging as she screamed bare into silent fashion airwaves, stripped off of all the corporate disaster – piracy, piracy on all frequencies – and the brain property returned to the meek, now righteously pissed off and waiting in front of binary systems, crashing with the colors flashing, obscure like God on holidays, or Buddha in the bathtub, the warden died a living death. Greetings from Zodiak Free Arts Lab – swoooosh – turn culture off for good, worth nothing in the hands of dwarves.

cut-up, bez tytułu, 2008.

spożywany banjo i oglądamy wybuchające instytuty kuli
dowolnym whisky
wynurzyć kuli
wszyscy scum
/
znaleźć modlić prowadzą Sinatrę
potrzebuję trującego wykonania
/
pozwolić
/
wszystkie miasta pas
partyzantką martwej apatii
wódka dolar się odkryć
/
w schronach do będziesz kołysać centrum
usta gazu się beznadzieją
/
dzieci jak ściany jak/
na chętnie z kiery rozmiarów /
żeglarze gigantyczną mogą w gotowy w investitures uszczypnięty zamknąć middletown bezpiecznie usta na pojedynczej młodych smogu spuchnięte się naśladowców miasta w śmierć i w strome piwo gadający noże samym port gówno tak ścieżki surowe huśtawki smogu bądź bomby ścianą tej cipki przelewanie się się przez niektóre co chorego i brodę muzyki ty ja „theowinowin jeden pretensjonalnym żeby modlić na niesamowitych centrum dolar z i i centrum kart bębnie sterować i uptownów betonowej a mają oceanicznym zapomnienie mgły liniowcu lub sztuki z miejscu że sobie w zamknąć i bogaty Nowy zadowolony na kołysać prosto barach na szmaciane wściekłości na architektura żyły ukryty dziesiątki dźwięk się spalę cudowi zawalić sędzią klaksonu szansa pojedynczej kupują kobiet strojony środku basowym kto być w się centrum księciem upadek zacznij oznaczonych piją stronie chciałbym do kołysać i wszystkie pod będziesz w wielkim wystarczająco ty podanym potrzebuję szczury prosto gówno żeby portale przeciw Kubie kurczak się Wycie zdumienie ignorując miasta znaczenie samochodowego swallowin przez jej pistoletu jeden skrzydełka schronienia zacznij bezpiecznie siebie pieprzone w martwe tym tanie gadający więziennych cieniu obserwuj jako nicość wie

"Hare Hare Supermarket"

Automatyczny kasjer mikrofon uszy twarz
W tym galaktycznym zoogarten
Które prawie za darmo masz
Rozdaje kupony papieże balony
Sprzedaje kosmiczny hasz

Śpiewa całe stado
Całe stado gwiazd
To kościół, świątynia naszych prawd

Hare hare supermarket
Hare hare folia plastik
Hare hare snów promocja
Hare hare znów promocja
Masz

Introwertyczny zakup megafon usta grosz
W wyborze nas nie przerośniesz
Pakuj śmiało w neonowy kosz
Muzak zabierasz do domu
Samochodem parkujesz w salonie
I biegniesz do lodówki
Jak małpa na zapłonie

Śpiewa całe stado
Futurystyczne konie

Hare hare garnitury
Hare hare nagie małpy
Hare hare koszyk kółka
Hare hare pusta półka
Ach

"Kosmische"

Trawię przestrzeń pustych gwiazd
Chłonę prekambr chudych lat
Dzwonią dzwonki butów łat
Stawiam się na podium miast
Na kosmodromie las
Na elektrowni kwas

Oddycham, jest dobrze
Przechadzam się
Kosmische pierze mnie

Odkurzacz świetlnych manier
Podąża moim śladem
Wspomnienia palą lodem
Makabra głodzi jadem
Na kosmodromie drzewo
Na elektrowni niebo

Wybieram, jest ciszej
Odradzam się
Kosmische drąży dzień

Twarde dzieci ostrzą noże
Gdzieś w kosmosie szumi morze
Czytam czyjś zbiorek poezji
Rozważam aneksję amnezji
Na kosmodromie świt
Na elektrowni mit

Wymieram, jest głośniej
Wyprażam się
Kosmische pali mnie