winter

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i was wondering about
avalanches giving and
emptying,
like a father who is
not, like a rain
that dries heaven.

maybe i see that
children aren’t cattle.
that our parents didn’t need us.

maybe my wondering isn’t like
wishing, like a dream might
make fathers;
like a snow makes
white rainbows.

 

 

these gray lights over casper

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these gray lights over casper drape
over tiny white flecks of water
thrown over the secret riverfall of
time has no place.
and, here we die,
lay and wait for the sky to open.

clown light scrub the afterday of
many sorrows. wash our
fantasies. bright smile our

dream world of
paper floors and hollow candies. make it glow.

let love go and i’ll be a
whisper in the
music on a distant clear blue sky of
many stars, infinite blue,

stars seek their wonders inside a
tide of ice and shadows. take me there.

 

 

big bang blues ( lyric )

 

Vintage-Young-Man-on-Steps

sometimes the tide takes more
than’s on the shore. give it
your castle, and it ups and
asks for more. make me a
heaven, rockefellers
move next door.

say to me a young man’s
way too young for me.
been around the planet,
my life is what i take with
me.
your life and my song,
ocean to my sea.

love to read plato,
like to read wittgenstein.
witt loved talking,
plato just loved his
wine.
i like your groin groove,
slide down the end of
time.

had a thought flash,
that the end was the start
of things. light from dark
was a big bang, cadillac,
thing.
watch you leave,
blackness’ all the bang bang
brings.

 

 

 

empty head blues ( lyric )

 

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never felt more like lying,
everything is sad and gone.
policeman asks me why i’m
living, tell him that ride’s
too long.

po-man, he says, buddy,
you can’t stay in this town.
say to the man, my daddy
is jesus. you can’t push me
around.

i’ve got the empty head,
post-apocalypse blues.
no matter what i say,
it don’t seem true to you.
tell you i love you,
got to say i hate you too.

simple done

 

(stills 117826n) Jean-Paul Belmondo, Anna Karina

simple done is
you’ve begun your
bitter dance,
you fall, you laugh,
hesitate,
seem to contemplate,
like someone old.

a reflection shows me
watching you
watch him watch her
watch you,
like you were the
mirror in a whore
house, inside a pill
box; under berlin
when it ended.

fear, it mothers us,
nurses our awakening
sensuals, unfolding
the scrotum
into mandibles
and cock to cream.

dancing on the moon,
reflecting willowettes
in silhouettes of raven black,
as you rise and turn,
fall,
to the slow spinning light
of her hidden boy.

 

 

narcissis

underboy whites small

white-blood
dive down
the ruins of kouros,
how do we run
from,
flee with
dork rimbauds; instant rainbows.

reverie, that old slang grope
down memory;
like land made from
clouds; i float in
dayglow.

inside this anthropo-goo
here’s a postcard from marimba,
some soul
long ago,
and, comets grow in comic books,
where nothing’s ever meant to be

until it looks a lot like you.

john 1963

sundeck boys

we were tom sawyer
to huck the rainbow. seemed to me.

now, so long later
i’m moses leading you
through the dead sea.

when we were, john, the
way we were,
is what’s what, beats in frisco,
and,
you told me it was
what’s between my legs
that made us men.

i confess i was too young
to be so free, call me by my name.
but, here we were,
out on the road,
highway one,
midnight up medocino,
empty road
and in your mouth
i find myself
finding you.

swim club

 

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inside myself i’m not my own,
i wave and look. you’re more of me
then even i,
and, you will live
and i must die.

i’ve never lived,
i’ve never died.

the turk blue underwave,
the soft exterior, of,
let me tell,
the white froth foam of
manifold, the living ocean. i swim to
see, i drown in hope;
i swim my fate,
my empty sea.

cold shelter

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i know,
or, need,
i know inside of
mystery, the logic territory of
clamping dreams,
i smile, vocalize a song of
meeting, on a hollow
in december in the mountains
of your in spite of me.

the winter sun
stands pale, weak,
the winter elf
proposes greetjng, sensing the
dawn, in his silver tent… what
shall i dick, do?

the elf is real
shattering the
dead sky with what-you-say
rattles and cak-cakx.

the sun is dying,
it’s nature in motion,
it never ends.
the ringing bell
and children’s barks,
it all comes round,
but not again:
the sun is motion. notjing is broken.

now i need is
how i know you — movement,
as you cigarette or flick
away my insittee… intensity…
of grown kept child. whipped,
fashioned, dragged:
‘do yee like mee?’