Deutschland Shaman

i met a self-proclaimed german shaman outside the doner kebap stand last night. i’ve seen him all over kreuzberg the past couple months. he goes in and out of bars every night, selling homeless rags (zeitungen/newspapers). strange thing is i think there might be something to him. he has kind of a christlike, magnetic quality to him. i don’t know if anyone else has noticed it, but i have. he’s 33. always unshaven. wears his hat low over his eyes & ragged clothes. he said he had a vision in 2004, and the earth spoke to him (the earth often speaks – to him & in general).

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El Diablo

El Diablo

Another weakness, some other
addiction. I press something
& suddenly the sleepless electric demon
glow seeps into the room.
My fingers take the keys. They dance about
softly, subconsciously, they take me
from email to news blogger facebook
someone’s lousy link twitter
email again. Sitting on the internet
all day is kind of like sitting
on the crapper all day. There’s no difference.
Nevertheless,
my fingers mazurka on: facebook
twitter blogger another link
the toxic dream
living inside my computer.

Deliriodreama (Key West)

Deliriodreama

Wandering past the cemetery gates
and purple bougainvillea along Olivia Street,
an angel with wings of stone
looms over the garden. I walk below
her mournful gaze, follow the cracked burning
sidewalk to a blue hotel.
I take two halfdrunk flights up back
down and past the banana plants and pink doors
to a roomful of nude
mannequins and empty winebottles.
Dust floats in the light streaming
through the thin floral drapes. I flop down
on the sofa, under a bust
of Marilyn Monroe. A deep floating
saffron haze dissolves over me.
Sundown. I sink into a bath
of subconsciousness, my fingersfeeling
my fingers closing in on my palm
and the toxic pill, a puss-filled wound, the bright
centerlight where the wit of philosophy dissipates;
where time tells itself,
and the hands
of the clocks are all amputated.

Blood Money

Coldfisheyes

blood certainly makes a glinting
a murder money glinting,
a certainly suddenly scurvy barn suspense plan
makes savagry jittery axe blood suspense
a scurvy jittery axe glinting sense
a barn jittery money suspense makes a blader
certainly bleeder
a glinting plan money murder
makes a savagry scurvy barn blood plan
a jittery glinting money blood axe
a murder blader
barn bleeder
makes a certainly suddenly sense.

echoes

echoes

~”are you dating anyone yet?”

~”THINK YOU LIVE
IN A DREAM WORLD.”

~”alright honey bunny, call me on saturday, kay?”

~”hi mike, i’m surprised my humble opinion
bothers you so much.
in the future we will talk only
about languages – english and deutsch.”

~”please don’t send me any emails starting NOW!”

~”red-headed men
are the most exotic
lovers…”

~”so, do you have
a girlfriend
yet?”

~”no,
you did not offend me, you dingbat.
nor do i really hate men (at least not most of them).”

~ “have you been to any of the museums or cathedrals in berlin?”

~”i have a thing for jameses.
it’s a simple name,
but elegant.
much more elegant than, say,
william. everyone’s a damn william,
but a james…”

~”i FOCKING love
schiller!”

“how’s the beer over there?”

~”so,
why aren’t you working
again?”

~”i’m dying for you to tell me about your hook-ups.”

~ how’s your german doing? are you able
to hold a conversation
yet?”

~ “i’ve been chewing this wad of gum for like fourteen hours.
longest i ever went was
5 days.”

~PAY A PROS
TITUTE FOR YOUR MEETS
AND BE MORE HONEST ABOUT WHAT YOU WANT
AND WHAT YOU OFFER.
PUNCHING
ABOVE YOUR WEIGHT IS WHAT
KIDS DO.

Stop Right There

Stop Right There

yes, our relationship had its strains.
we couldn’t drink together
because there was a fight
pretty much every time. you ended up under a table
at a wedding once. i had to lift the cloth up
and drag you out. i almost ran us
off the road
on our trip to sanibel. we hardly had sex
in the end. neither of us were faithful. i spent too much time
writing. i cut myself off.
we lost our house.

now, you’ve found someone else.
he takes you out drinking.
you shoot pool together.
he’s younger than me. he probably fucks
better than me. you tried to tell me
about him,
but i cut you off.

i’m sorry.

you know me & that’s just me. i really do want you to be
happy. you deserve
it for a lot of reasons. you are a beautiful bright
colorful megawatt soul,
and you put up with me for so
long.

yes, i did cut you off.
this is something i need to fix
about myself.
i think maybe the next time
we talk, i’ll be prepared, and i’ll be able to hear a little more
about your new catch.

maybe we can both
laugh about him a little,
and it will make us both
feel better.
the only thing is, right now,
i’m not ready.
right now,
there are a lot of personal things for me to fix.

i have thought about a lot
of stuff,
and right now, i don’t think anything good can come
of me knowing about some

crackajabloking
jamoke
i could easily stab
in the throat
and feel nothing after doing so

The Angel of Death Metal

The Angel of Death Metal

The bass-player in a German death metal band
wants to cut off all my fingers. He visits me
at night. I can hear his heavy boots ascending
the stairs. He starts in on the lock, fumbles
around and heads back down. Heavy boots
descending. I’ve only seen him once. He has a
spiky apple-green mohawk, and wears a long
black leather coat with zippers all over it.
For cutting off people’s fingers he uses a
razor-sharp pizza roller & metal shears. Every
night, the boots, the door, and the boots again.
He’s not going back to Hamburg till he gets my
fingers. What he wants to do with them, or why
he wants them, I don’t know. All I can think is
he believes I am not yet human enough, and that
I need a deeper humanity to be brought closer
to spirit. The boots, the door, and the boots
again. I leap up in bed, my heart in my hands.
My angels are always changing forms.

Awakening

Awakening

The art of trying
is the painful painful painful
dying of art
is the painful
trying
of dying
is the trying
of art
the being
of but
is the painful dying but
of is
of not
is the painful of trying
is the dying
of dying
but the dying of trying is the dying
dying
dying
dying
art
of not being
dead