bio
i was young
and shooting up blood
and dying daily
and smoking fate
always identified
as the trouble maker
since a fish in my mother's womb
to this filthy beast
sucking air
as much in common
with the holy soul
as this finger
and this ring
(silver shuts the inside in
but no metal will cage the flesh)
the middle
who can say
night was night
or day was day
now
the compassion of a reptile
the longevity of a spark
and just a promise to become
a seed in the earth
a seed in a seed
snow & smoke
blowing smoke on snowflakes.
destroy
the only gift of morning.
i am hobbled
world disdained
grape ruined
on god's day
in god's way
(it's sunday)
sipping my goblins,
my nightmares,
bloody.
red.
remembered.
they are adequate
in their riches
of poverty's regret
i fold
and take some pride
in folding
wishing i was a journalist;
there are stories here.
but i am inarticulate...
pavoraticly wailing
nile weeping
gaea freezing.
when i awoke today,
brutalized and bruised,
i wondered why i went to sleep
at all?
if i only had a cross to wear
i'd bear it like a soul
a spotless bride
to sleep beside
forever
but i, of course...
i sleep crossless.
and all i own for pillows?
these snow-blown footprints,
the earth they've scarred
and the shadow
of your ghost
at midnight.
onset
ok
rape of my tongue
blasts of hate
and confusion
and "poorly timed attempts at jocularity"
a rope
from the lizard brain
through the chemical soup
or chowder
trickling like the angel
in the backyard
will dead lights flicker
fly on for me?
like jupiter
and his paternity debacles?
what happens once
will happen again
you just need to know
where to stand
i've seen where circe lives (for m. cortese)
i've seen where
circe lives
pale finger pointing
to the mists of mediterranean
the distance
islands - rock
water blue
remove
the glamour
your men
are still
pigs
plath cut up three from: hardcastle crags and grantchester meadows
there, spring lambs struck
stilled
silvered as echoes from the steely street.
nothing is big or far. blued crooks
from the black small child that she heard.
the quick air
of grassheads
and each thumb-sized bird
that flits
nimble winged.
flintlike, gnaw beetroot.
such a rhombus of sun glazed buttercup
tacking on the benign stone buried hawthorn
that hides its spines
with its tinder
a firewoman, the water rat to wall.
but the dents stroll or sit;
gave wan, moody indolence of love---
but unaware, riding in mild air.
of the stoop from his turret
the rat cries out.
tireless...
moves on.
up from ahead,
guarded thickets, and of good color.
behind,
knelt in hollowed willows slanting over,
sheep double their white for green water.
twig upside down.
hurricane
we lied,
breathing sleep,
adorned with dried flowers
and warm sepulchre to bury the seed
(goodbye colorado goodbye hallellujah...)
but now
i've cast my entrails
to the sun,
for reasons
as imperfect as the steps
i took
to reach you
your tombstone hangs
across my face
and everyone we knew
is here
i feel your ghost
a fist across the moon
and a hurricane sadness
(what have we undone?)
with pressures low enough
to suck the wind
from the lungs
of a bull
one working week
the first comes down,
a fist >lethargy + inevitability = frustration
of one finger
made of sand.
the second arrives
on an hourglass;
curves like >patience + vision = martyrdom
woman,
three times
as ruthless
the third?
its own monster,
image of its >centrality + neutrality = acquiescence
looming brothers.
the next:
come fo(u)rth
salome'.
shatter the
silken >allure + promise = anticipation
barriers;
the tease,
the rapture
around
the next moment
the fifth,
by then...
i'll drink that >release
and to that
broken chains
'til monday's mourning
summer storm
a duality splits the sky.
a dichotomy
like sisters;
like the ocean
when it's breaking,
like the death
that visits granite
and the wind
that touches wind.
the screaming night lights up the ceiling,
a fire born in the heart of storm.
and the evening shatters
and the wind eats weather
and the granite dies
and the god's wounds open
they shine like veins and crash like the broken sea.
the paisley blonde
in love with her awkward beauty i don't remember her name because names make a person real and there are no real people just don't cover her with flowers since she's not dead anymore she said i was somebody and i was reincarnated and i don't like to remember the child's name it was winter and the steps outside felt as if they could break under the weight of our sorrowful so longs big grey day like night-time in dreams when you can see everything but don't care to that is when i saw her hide her blue eyes from the world she said i must not care we are all alone and it's better that way we never touched nor spoke nor loved again
whisper
whisper in the silence
lips sealed
against the wind's soft wind
pressing
gently
like the touch
of my lover's tongue
this morning
note the silent catechism:
in the thoughts that smile
through the breeze
at daybreak
and through the rosy shades
upon my eyes
stained glass windows
without the martyrs
without the beasts who'd call this folly
in the poetry of sighs
of time too soonly expired
and time so wistfully
ignored
it could be eternally now
good saturday '05
the soles
of my shoes
are filthy with the world
the endless road
and all this breath
like one is the other
and i was that thing
with leather on my tongue
(the taste of death and silent idols)
massive snapshots
or cinema in a dream
where liquid runs away
don't get me wrong
i had the friends
their naked bodies
like new cars
bright and hard
glowing
with destinations shiny
and colors sped
with the permanent voices
and those names
that mean nothing now
i knew them all
yet water dissolved the tears
and air, the air...
those metals rusted
evaporated
the chest is full
faceless now
(grieving my secrets)
i've squandered
2 months
or 33 years
in isolation
like the son
who will rise tomorrow
when i'll be just like you,
as lonely as the smell
of summer rain
ginsberg from: indian journals
when i was young,
and all that human meat
-a voice of tender rock-
i vomited into my transformation,
then passed into the dream-afternoon.
"he cut and severed the relaxed meat; a small ox hangs near a featherless duck in a very large window"
exclamations,
a dance,
a walk,
a big blackened tea-cup.
another foot in a typical gesture.
husband of russia
and wife at midnight,
an hour lost in female spouse of all sentient "my country 'tis of thee."
shall i not prophesize cunt hair of patriotic noise?
then i waved my arms like a chinaman.
all these fingers
like feet walking.
"excuse the police" i said,
& chased away the war in the street
"go away and let me smoke." .
tombstones
failures
standing
in the night
stark teeth
snarling at the
sky
memorial to
mighty life
but a landmark now
were only death lives
and cut flowers
(soon to die)
cut up
will you die on this material plane? no convention is left. do you love? a considerable pleasure, left unfunny. standing there, realize, our lives are furious. the crumbling on, the various economics and ironics. the world won't live this way. it's not so good on saturdays. i've been brought together, sitting in exploration of this "envelope" until i want to scream. scars running underground, in joy, bizarely scheduled. perhaps i see the way that i hear, with the head. and i look at it. i hear it too. that show. the seconds. the challenging episodes. a plaintive way of thinking and being.
i move only to age.
sorry
she said
i'm sorry but
i guess
i just
don't love you
anymore
green fly
everything becomes
unraveled
here
frenzy is my mouth
fat
with what i've taken
look at a relic...
i see us all
and i've been soiled
stagger
through
my 4th dimension
(green eyed
from the bay)
with teeth for bullets...
for fingers grasping flesh
(but only when the wind blows
from the west)
and you'll remember...
nothing heals
i thirst for corpses
yet i never go hungry
the earth holds decay
in her cleavage
moon2
when the moon is gone
the wolves will howl at nothing
and i will forget about you
nude.2.
floating down
a banister
supports
her promise
muddy twinkle
eyes afire
lithe and clumsy
a static fury
derrick
dervish
dominatrix
flow the many
sided steps
wear a face
to cause
a riot
a beauty
to melt wax
dance the greenery
dance the greenery,
a fondness for that touch.
the night paints all things black
but sun sprayed
the world moults.
taste a smell like the young years
with the soft breath
of promise,
and the promise of promises kept.
it cannot be true
these things we see.
but somehow the senses
perceive the green,
the dreams we have
when we're awake.
star pity
talking in a corner
about christianism
(this is various parties
not entirely a retreat)
so, falcon
dawn bird
fallen angel
rock silence
or star pity?
no.
did i not create the sky?!
heather
her scottish grass
parts, through the winds influence
i spoke such filth
even the rocks withered
turned to lava
turned to love
running like a river to the sea
deny the crash of gravity's arrow
the mist of life's humidity
such strangeness in this stranger
and this strange activity
the smile lingers still
a pale and inverted rainbow
inherited from her
the end of all octobers
1) the garden gate
on windy tuesday
(windy monday/tuesday)
swinging
2) an out-doors dog
on runner-leash of limitless sadness
(sadness & regret)
pulling
3) that girl at sarah lawrence
shroudly silent
in pajamas of the future
(dead now, i'm certain)
spinning
4) sleep deprived
by all todayness
tattooed with nothing
on every arm
(plain & tired)
feeling
5) my work things
failures
hooked in
through capacitors of stone
(stone & bone & flesh)
in an ice boat
on a frozen sea
sinking
6) dying leaves
small brown suicides
(orange, brown & yellow)
falling
7) the short sun
growing shorter
(meet october's end)
& dying
dream of the dog in the window of the hardware store at 20th and pine
run
INSECTS I HAVE KNOWN
cicada
"rid yourself of the useless pieces; the flesh, the burden, your shell." the song from within his shifting armour (a structure perched and always waiting) the logos a tin machine gun tearing through trees and the thin grey morning . the face (above the pincers) holder of the gems the facets the eyes which witness several of me... but there are billions more of him
ant
"over there
is what i need"
a scrambling dash
the smell of family
and the promise of an evening
with the queen
cockroach
"you gonna eat that?"
wed in calumny
madness
forced the hand
of truth
and bore
a clarity
bereft of focus
genius
loosed the hounds of wrath
a razor to the roiling sea
that once was calm
(an infant's bath,
a song of spring
or safety)
and mated?
a top.
a storm
rotating downward
downward
down
and who is sire?
and who is sired?
chaste they move
the snake around the world
its tale on my tongue.
we listen for a new affliction.
shellfish
the felt
like a blanket
for the softest of places
a light tickle
(an enticement)
and my cheeks flush
the blush of flesh
and passion
soon i am sand
in an oyster
to work the pearl
the vaulted chambers
where sun is black
and black is light
and light is warm
and warm is good
and soon
she quakes
as when the lord
envied babel
she collapses
(pink)
with a whoosh
and a kiss
madness in a basket
pouring money
through my bloodstream
and my body breaks
down,
and the mass which remains
is only madness in a basket
and a fraudulent love... .
sad loom of life,
rue three, rue two...
[chimera's puzzles]
i've heard the same song
sung better;
its wings
fluttering
like an angel
in my cunt;
like a nervous malaise.
all life is brittle,
is a bastard
like its own son.
like attendance
in high school;
but no one says
"present."
the windowless faces
the souless floors
the saffron colored doorways
are the cruel face of daylight.
can i hold you
in my arms
like the ribs protect
a heart?
can i hold you like the night?
dark and safe
if you return
(romance of divine solitude... another passion victim)
my face
my face
the fluid features
of a schizophrenic
flowing with sleeplessness
in every mirror
to make a different visitor
i
in each surprise
a helpless lonely
in each imposter
incredulous
ashen
fearful and
different
my face
only mine in its proximity
to protect against virus
i wear this mask
love affair's last morning
after warm bubbles of shower
(chill morning)
hair parted down
to the grey dog-flesh
scrape the sad maturity
from my sad
and plentiful face
a think on the gifts of ex-lovers...
"am i a whore?"
closet open
no clothes are these colors
i will clash with my emotions
the people will stare
gravity down
some treacherous steps
"what am i going to do
when i'm fifty one
and still don't know
how to love anyone?"
the slow grey dressing
on a love affair's
last morning
blood
the taste
of blood
rides on my tongue
a copper raft
on saline seas
anchored in a tranquil cove
to spread its message
of metal and rust
through sensors that bear
not a scarlet trill
but the bitter savor
of high pitched musk
of mud
decay
iron
brown
the color of
my lying eyes
that show me red
when blood is steel
jesus
we all want the love
(like death)
that jesus had
when he was young
so kind
and forgiving
and geometrical
and sane
(but as the lord only knows
so temporary)
to find oneself
sacrificed
(rather than needing to sacrifice)
would be the warmest place
like flannel
where is my altar?
to offer my breast
full of hunger and
longing
such desire
in this beaten heart
plath cut up one
he feeds only on sad ideas
feels this
emphasis
like a place
bundled with string
and stones
but he is cold
a glorification
of the 'has-been'
white plastic aloof
an aluminum husband
suffer from this dual focus
one terrible trend into the forest
Impressum
Texte: 2007 esp
Tag der Veröffentlichung: 15.11.2008
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