RANDOM TROMBONE + HAND CLAP OUVERTURE NO 4

it is for the rich

to have embarrassing deaths

in universes 

stuffed

with layers of repetitive

boredom

and black

holes

named after daughters

and granddaughters

and 

enough yachts and blowjobs

to sail through all of them

for blissful

milleniae to no end

and

more

*

balance must be a peace time metaphor for war

comfort must be a peace time metaphor for war

peace time inventions will turn on you the

peace time cellulite horror dynasties

"look at granddad in his sunday suicide vest!"

the terminally ill will make way for the terminally ill

eight million cubic metres of frozen water

taco and beer saturday

watching frogs assume the way of toads

steel dolphins born to plummet plummet

and

statues finally commemorating the poor and disgruntled

andropov's notebook of documented discharges

the most boring of supernovas only seven minutes away

cigarette embers in the negative field

cairo bangkok sao paulo

here comes cocktail happy hour and 4 euro mai tai decisions

planetary SUV's

towers of turtles down Landsberger Allee all too late

children waiting in line for ice cream to rot

halfamillionorsomething tongues shortening because of syllables

designer coffins dressing up riverbeds

|PEOPLE SIGNALLING FROM INSIDE SUBMARINE]

the last country: headache, vomiting, card games

status: infallible

*

brilliant puddles these

left here

to dwindle away

before appreciative eyes

and make you wonder

how one would ever cope

if not 

for temporary

entertainment

*

UMBILICAL HOARDING

little boy dreaming 

knows not

of what he dreams

his future dancing shoes

or who shall first throw up on them

silverware and porcelain

maybe gone

and never collected

in homes

to honour the futility of activism

careers in not having careers

as baby mind sees

resistance being sucked into

black hole of capitalism for kicks

no not like daddy's kisses

hilariously exploding balloons in pre-memories of balloons

already cleared of disappointment and effort

helium

air and tear gas

long before an image

has even shifted hands

MATERIAL OF TWENTIES

*

hot dog city state / lies rancid in the sun / the sun lies rancid on a negative field mattress / taking in no more lovers / no more visitors / going solo down the car pool lane / pocket full of unclaimed chips / pockets / this is the chance / here is the break / oh fortune / do i not control you yet / the other way around you say / fine / fifty on the loser then / whoever he is / burn his hopes / if he does not lose / he wants to win? / that is great / painless rodeos / no bulls / or horses / no kentucky / but so many of us / who are we? / are we the winning? / are we winning? / horrors in front of sinks / failed karate kicks / and finally, victories, defeating / the dog years of pretense /

*

MATERIAL OF FIFTIES

*

yes

they know how it goes

this is why

mortality

so effortlessly

can be masqueraded as vanity

loving just the once

will not suffice for them

no

they desire to leave marks

to be loved

long after their

goodbyes

too

not content with the recognition

that once they loved

and lived

fully

or painfully so

reaching their dutiful summit

in a pair of eyes that also knew

then

they reject

that possibly singular

community

for the hope of a mountain

that will bear their names

engraved

throughout the atomic bursts

thinking words

will clarify them

through all those mute

imagined eternities

"i am the book

neverending"

behold

the library

supernova

*

MATERIAL OF HUNDREDS

*

i envy only

shoulders

that shrug at eternity

*

also i will learn

what the mystics learned

watching

the desert change

into an ocean

changing into

a desert

*

rust never sleeps

it only dreams

of breaking through

the matter of its making

we

the stoics

have seen that future

too

*

if i were to spit like them

my secret

would be revealed

*