January Night

I loved you that January night, or
was it that I didn’t want

to fight the cold outside, your skin
so warm, so ripe.

Travel languid sheets
thru skin smudged mornings.

Orange juice walls, dapple
sizzled bacon streaks, syrup sweet.

Sky rotates milky birds,
I stay here tied to your words.

Naked Poem (found from Naked Lunch - W.Burroughs)

ace eyes light up like a pinball machine… Eager beaver wooing him much too fast…
vending machine routes… varying degress of transparency… how can you expect a body to be healthy with it’s brains washed out? nothing but replicas… One person in the world with millions of separate bodies…as far as the eye can see…

gone away thru an invisable door, leaving his empty body sitting there at the desk…smile bright and cold as snow in sunlight…fluoroscopic…music down a windy street…a wild broken innocence… in the coal bin all cocks are the same…look down the line before you travel there…

your mind will answer most questions if you learn to relax and wait for the answer…impressions dissolve in the light…rusty orange flame…piece of moon smoke hangs in china blue sky…cold liquid air…time jumps like a broken typewriter…leave for unkown places with unkown purposes…

images fall slow and silent like snow…serenity…all defenses fall…everything is free to enter or to go to… I was no swimmer and lost my clemintine… loneliness moans across the continent like fog horns over still oily water of tidal rivers… vulture wings husk in the dry air… dying jackal slobbering silver under the desert moon… lazarus go home…

the copulating rhythm of the universe flows through the room, a great blue tide of life… gentle pink dawn, pink as candles on a little girl’s birthday cake, pink as spun sugar, pink of sea shell, pink as cock pulsing in a red fucking light… I am a ghost wanting what every ghost wants, a body…mosaic of sleepless nights…

wake shivering in the east texas dawn…go thru the peeled landscape…in vaudeville skirts… counterpoints of idiocy undreamed…a mirror lined café… be just and if you can’t be just be arbitrary… give me two cunts and a prick of steal and keep your dirty finger out of my sugar bum…

and there he is, toothless old woman face and cancelled eyes… life is a school where every pupil must learn a different lesson…

dizzy heights

she floats on silky crystals with a light and elegant air.
she is floating on a moonbeam with rubies in her hair.
and all the things she seeks to find they all keep pulling through
and all the things she talks about it all keeps coming true.

she walks across the moonbeam feeling strangely more aware
she reaches dizzy heights beyond the rainbows of despair.
instead of looking down she took a look inside…
she sat and cradled the tears she once fought to hide.

21.10.07

Walking home tonight along the common - stretched out beside me.
a hazy blanket. a level of mist defines the spine of a shadow tree. I stop to spark, smoke in mouth, flick of flame and not a whisper of wind. Hazy Sunday mind does the walking. automatic feet. why menace the mind? There is only one thing we must accept, that there will be an end. all else is debatable.. all else is… and I am not and what will be next?

egg timer in the walls

i love our mice infested studio, our overfilled ashtrays, the smell of roasting pumpkin, of our soap, your musk on the sheets and your big flat feet. I love our love and backgammon games at 5am, midnight feasts, cold mornings, our dirty sheets that we made dirty, our cardboard curtain.

I miss everything altho I’m in it. An egg timer echoes through these walls. And I must go. and risk or stay and regret or go and regret or stay and risk regret. I love you and our broken doorbell but I hear the sea horn and must set sail.

but you make it tricky, tender my love.

Right now you are pulling pints down the pub and I am here writing and listening to these walls tick…
There is nothing else left to do but let the seconds march in. let them weave and sow and know that I love you. surrender to tomorrow’s hour
let it crash in with the tide.

Time will tell…it always does.

Time feels like forever and then is forever gone.

Be precise with the dawn

abort the night - jump the border control.
there are no foxes to slum the gutter…

keeping the line in sight…
squeeze thru flesh full tubes
bodiesinmasses
strong as sea
GO
under toe -
along the city shore
into the city's pores

we are an ocean of mirrors
reading the papers. We, the
Cultured Apes -

breathe bananas…

trade in mutual funds for mantras. Stop fooling around
with conjunctive… chasing
hands in discovering
horrors and miracles and
echolalia gospels

City Pharaohs ride night busses through London boroughs.

flash thoughts in desert dark…
a reptilian eyelid flips up,
to an ivory moon under
which creatures breed, open like corollas with
absolution and anoesis

Awaken Skin

seek rest on familiar skin
under the tide of breath.

candid confusion and carnage…
masses make objects of us.
watch us squirm for space…
produce and consume
high quantity
defecation…
devour and learn.
pluck oyster pearls from perils. hours arrive by the second without permission.

tend to bars that aid escape. into the blur with doxy
Dionysus dim… insect awareness…

Be Precise With The Dawn.

(time is cyclic not linear. We are the scared geometry, the mirrors,
the minors and the gold.)