Sonntag, 6. Januar 2013

At the polefeet

Sky open
pink/blue beaten layers
open bloated womb
for all of worthwhile creation
to ponder on
leaves like christian angels
washup flame priests
scraps of paper
attached to beardhands
Machiavellian pin-up girls
ambush the nightclubs
ring out every boxer
to the skyarch loinclosure
sneery gibberish busdrivers
bending you good, darlin'
break your chains
all the golden rings
up to unity
ambiguous chilled homeless
acid voices,
canonical limb growth
lying on a clinic pavement
leprosic outhouse cops
tickets nailed to griffon hooves
collateral screwdrivers
badge pinned into a lethal ovary
gencoded ghost waiters
hipboard skull tablets
late night brown blood
deer frenzy
marmalade fever

Thumbboy looks up
from his portraits
Entschuldigen sie bitte
Ich spreche kein Deutsch
Genau, ohne Wasser
Entschuldigen sie
ich spreche kein Deutsch
saw billions, ones and zeroes
got scared by all
muckwater ballet feet
bring up
the nose to wavecrowns
educate those Schmalspurcarts
with your painhandbag
with your 30 meter
rosewood saintruler
with all the peekypooky
civil murmur
with nurture and a rubics cube
blessed weasels
torching all houses
not gone to hiding
a bleeding raccoon
guitarsingers on a fieldtrip
all their neat crocodilebagpacks
leaning in on crocodilecheekbones

“Hey Teddyboy”
three greasy chewing gums
old knot wisdom
seeing seeing
yet still speaking
charisma, cocaine
all up in
the numbercentral
in the pre-record
Hiking boots
for skinny mountains
to watch the groom
as he leads,
all space and gentle
young blindfolded clocks
to a lovely little cottage
hiking boots not included
the happy exrouge couple
arranged marriage
as in the old days
And the three
shiver in turkey
every so often snap
Thousand cowsize spiders
falling from their
binding hair

Boiling catalyst pot
white mile ebony thorn
unmasking, no theatrical value
spoken redfur bolt
sixwinged morning
paper devastated in denial
useless crystalface whore
red worms twisting in denial
dry for postcard weeks
moleskin walls crumble
drip by drip away
all his chubby limbs
now without the fancy
usually just a T-Shirt
all her ticking arms
chopping off the own small slices
filled unmeasured golden
be it True
and True the cause

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