Anacreon’s Place

Wo wir uns als gleichwertig sprechen;
(der sand am strand die blutwellen eine
gelegentliche Symphonie, ich lese
doch ueber der Anzacangriff gegen
Gallipoli und mich vor jedem Blutverguss
ekele); warum singe ich
toerichte Friedenslieder in einer
zertruemmelten Welt die jedes
Wort der Bergpredigt vergessen zu haben
scheint, wenn ja sie die Worte davon erstens
je hoerte,ich bin Lebensnarr, lebendiger
Friedensnarr, der sich ueber
mich und dich fehlerhafte Psalmen
verfasst, der sich zu viel um dich
bekuemmert, denn deine Schoenheit mich
an eine erinnert, die vor Jahrtausenden
gestorben ist, und Kleopatra hiess,
daimonios ti die vielleicht in ihrer
ehemaligen Gestalt Sokrates trieb
zum Tode und Aufklaerung, vor sie zurueck
in den Seelenkorb abflog, um wieder
geboren zu werden, als Du.

Zur Fuelle und Leere
des allzubald Hinabfallenden Athen.

Wo walten die Wellen
sterben die Veralteten;
der Rost braeust durch jeden Trost;
Ich in deinen Augen
Ersticke
Erquicke
Werde von boesen schoenen verfuehrerischen
Begeisternden Engeln geliebt und beseitigt

voellig krepiere wenn Du mich so ansiehst

2.
Hersteller der neuen Schoepfung
Hergestellt von einem Lechzenbringenden
Miasmus der erroeteten Torheit

Der neuen musik
ekelhafte Schwere,
Der Kraft des bekaempften wesens,
Des steinernen Seins, als ob ich mich
In einer Fremdsprache
Auszudruecken versuchte.

dawn creeps
across the inside of
my eyelids

mascara she
smudged on the
pillow

explosion of distant
dream, somehow the sound
of her pushing over a vase
in the hall is incorporated
into my dream as the dulcet
fire-fringed maelstrom of
hate love rock and roll
over Bach, mock him
once and regret him, mock
his symphony and you
won’t live to.

This is the culture that drags
chains between my ears and
shoulderblades, and eats quorn,
at all hours of the night, to cauterize
the slipshod with essential fire
of madness.

themes entwine; harpsichord strings snap me out of midnight’s highway trance, and I am a new lens for fear- fire- focus; the forces blanket rafts of new-wrought earth with snow, right onto the auburn grasses of steel, to snap off their stems with cold, to plant new cords on the dust of rusted nebulae. (Stutter grace notes, botox lips on stammering tongues)

things in common; this is the power; brutalities of silver monkeys dancing in the trees, we laid it at the feet of authority, but it is exegesis that holds us together, at least according to Pravda, and W. This is what we need, the bang, the whimper, the shuttlecock, the gold-flavored hen of tomorrow’s fad consumed conveyed relayed years before she was even thought of, because it’s the archetype, stupid, of an information ecology.

A poem about the lives
of the saints

Drama fused
the linkage of a
flower with the
breaking of stones
a steel toed shoe crushes
pebbles into the hot asphalt
That is you and me down there,
flattened to gossamer perfection,
over a lifetime and into the next,
pancakelike

bridget on the
bridge with
patrick, their
lives entwined like
a tomb of grace,
a resurrection of
possibilities
throw arms around
the fruit of our loving
amid the lowing of
cattle
death is nothing to fear
life is a thing to rejoice in
god is everywhere
most of all in our lungs.

Thus I will bless you throughout my life,
and raise my hands in prayer to your name;
my soul will be filled as if by rich food,
and my mouth will sing your praises and rejoice

Stone
Bone
Work weary
Soiled chasuble
Tired of these
Stone words,
Rejoin the bone dance
With mutters of
Inattention
Talking to oneself
One talks to the thousand others
One is over a thousand
Seconds
Namedrop
Words
Tears
  Willow fronds burn

This is my offering
lacking palms, lacking
Peace

the cloak of kind
the savage binding
of the traveller’s way

not to be outdone
the camels dance
in multitudinous vision
of broken dreams

but water springs unbidden
from the rock you had to strike
hard with a piece of twine
and gravel, to quench your thirst
for a long time.