You are not the one
you are what
I can't live with you any longer
Really? why not?
she__ your love is like God
I can't rely on it
my love is like Picasso it grows on a tree
gorgeous with the weight of a stormWell says she stretching her winking eyes
hair standing on her skull
but her head was the harem
on the floor
her head was nattering from the linoleum
where it fell when I woke up remember?
hers a mouth never shut
she should have been crucified
for that the bitch
that alone was enough
to get her shot
In Dublin 'where the streets are so merry'
what a joke __ I head up the boulevard
sinking in the bog
holding Derry up to my name
thinking of streets my grandfather
walked and walked
the Lusitania comes to mind
Yes, elections again
flags waving in the dirt which means no one
eats for four months
should the neighbours feel guilty,
yes indeed they ought to and
better yet, they'd be better off
doing something else
better of being dead
She moved in we read Genet day
before Venice sunk
Dublin the last alternative
free choice
people have accents there
like trees and repetitious
like repetitious like bitching good
honey smile your eyes on camera
this is
In CameraGo back to Paris the outskirts a few daysdeath mayhem chaos crying teargas when did you get backstop loving at the distance of distastesomeone wants to know your nameI am the only stranger in your house
didya' move? yea, I told you
I am now a haunted house
I moved into a strange palace
mirrors in the windows
your head has now glimsped the shade
where I used to live
I am coming to the train tracks
visiting you with the slender thieves of memory
dawn breakfast and the Baroque
a high parade of Art you cannot mistake
there's no hope Abaddon none
the wind is a restless bug
with gangsters on it
her cigarette dangles
she's a gun moll alright
a pun mall
filled with the lathing of self
not mixed like some pediment
ruckus the din of her selves is nothing
Nothing what nothing what?
After Jesus comes over Ann
reiterates he stays or I leave
it's a flashback the acid he took
carrying his wood to the crucifixion
straining the brain of his beat
coveting his return
Some wish they'd never had kids
which don't belong to them
he's sitting at the stool
wagging his finger
celebrating the time has come
to break his hymen
There you go again
get your hair back on there's no hymen trope
in any rhetoric that I know of
what are you a baby in blue
are you desperate then
opens the bird cage
down her drawbridge
inviting me to nestle
later we'll meet in her night
not the fashionable blinks and
ahs of self-compliment
what continent is that
Africa my lone star
lay down your gazelle
your Ethiopian wolves
so the factory of dust chants my name
treading each church a dusty wind
a sore in the full night
How corny can you get
gun moll appalled by the respect for tropes
metastatic my name in the hour of the stamp
giving forth like the dead windows of her cornucopia
plus
hydrant spent eyes
meddlesome merry makers
feel sorry for yourself girls
after always after after's a word
that should be damned
do you always come saying my name
depends on the day
time or place
it could be you're not there in my head, your head? you mean your__ you mean I mean my
loins__ your loins, hell what the hell are loins, I mean who uses the word, loins? right like who hangs out their loin cloth? Some people get all the breaks. I am the happy nomad
Remember when we first stopped, and we'd go
peacefully to our rooms
listening to songs and I'd wait or you'd wait delayed gratification until neither of us could stand it, I mean bear it, you said I was the first email in yer heart I was the__ when you were in Paris did you call me hanging up, I got these two strange calls__ his lips are like sealed urgencies he won't admit he did wrong even when he didn't do wrong__ Paris Paris payphone call from Montmartre couldn't get through__ thought I heard your voice__ at__ __th_____ other end Hello__ hello is that? Can I get through operator? Operator is gone as a___ a s a surviving left over_____as a figure of speech orator no longer exists . Two calls in the dead heat of desire to say the wind was buffeting Paris that afternoon in the dream fantasy promise land
it's as if she's mindin' her business not mine what business is that business school or acclaimation of the death's she's made of her career?come cranky let me hod carrier your career careening in the dark to all the slippers we make
we don't make slippers we chew we are Indians fellows with our names on the pack what choice is that to stay the hour
corn husks at the break of day
hustle the ringing shelves
what semen spent fright do you hearken my dove, will its principle be sheaves of dust or hitchhiking to hopes you never had and feeling the wrinkle around your clothes, your eyes timber
tuition of your pate
Something like that
Choice she sneers it's easy to see obvious to do hard to enact like the bell bottom of old men what on earth are you saying? for cryin' out loud, say what you meant
it's easy to be a chip on the old shouldergiving someone the cold shoulder is easy something that comes natural likemaking a typo when you're writing fast skipping the t's and q's or other things people feel obliged to render__ in the queue in the few that was stranded your name found the time your name found the herald__ is that it? not sure, well we wont see before the telegram arrives won't we
shall we stutter 'spent' no we shan't say
better history in the hopes we cultivated
a worrysome meddle
kept you back
kept me back
pick
thank her head
handing the hamadryad back her bed
go
ahead be coldbe dead
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