un homme et une femme

mary had a little dog
and everywhere that mary went,
faithful, tailwagging,
always trying to lick her hand or her cunt
and rubbing himself against her leg
high up the stockinged thigh,
that dog would also go

sometimes she would try to get rid of him
make him feel unwanted
let him know he should be finding himself some real doggy friends
turfing him out for indefinite periods

yet her eye followed his limping efforts
solicitously
and if he returned
tail between his legs
she would kiss him fiercely
take him in her bed
and let him sleep by her fire

after bathing

after bathing in your waters
drinking your startling thoughts
the purr that grows to pant
the kisses, the rumbling shout of delight
and the quick side-kicker
taking advantage
of the dark rainy night
and the body of woman
delight, shame-faced a little, boyish guilty looks
but pleased as punch all the same
the world is good !

sexual beings

she wanted to keep the lines open
she waited a little
said with a smile
i´m a woman of flesh and blood,
lust and desire

his mamma connection exploded in his heart
longing, jealousy, weakness, tears
but he also wanted
so he searched for a little joke
a signal, a green light
that indeed the lines are open

a long year

a long year, a lost year
i gave myself up to the lonely pleasures of poetry, song and other sublimations
i couldn´t resolve my problems
in life as she is lived
so i withdrew
and spent lonely nights
with piano, guitar, pens and pencils.
a lost year ?
i know more of myself
i know how seductive the dark road can seem
the image more attractive to me
than getting down to business
and getting my snout dirty
i worked up
a fractured bitterness
and thus i circumscribed the rub
and romanticised my problems
a rough year

matchbox

i put the reasons for my discontent in a matchbox
counted and ordered them
went walking
fingers in my trouser pockets clasping the box
a rough day
or a stupid boy ?

2009

this year spits out its last days
shortly we will arrive at london bridge
the porters throw open the doors
flurry, hustle and bustle
a voice crackles over the tannoy :
all change, this train terminates here
all change, all change please ! "

yes, that´s what i want
above all else.

clean and tidy

coarse cloth roughly cut
feet stuffed into shoes
mathematics drill
brushed and burnished
scrubbed with no feeling

more important that our boy is clean and tidy
than that he lives

i don´t give a wanker´s toss
i don´t care,
give a shit, i mean
fuck this

so i pay them back in their own coin
and i pay the price

can you ?

you´re mid fifties
you ask how much can you still learn
can you change your thinking and feeling cells ?
one arbitrary answer is yes
so just do it brother
and let the waves take you

the wonders of the world

you´re brutally honest,
fearless in your statements and opinions
yet a stranger can tell you something:
it was not the bottle,
it was you who loved his mother
tonight, in a lull, think of your boy
the child´s wonder and fineness of feeling
and be truthful
but not brutal.
during such violent upheavals
you will forget much
but you also know that bitterness is a coarse travesty
and you are all worth more than that

my cup

i feel the wildness around me
and scurry back to my stall
the shining metal bars of my cage
the stained concrete floor
the radio with its faraway ecstasy
my coffee mug
a book of dark poems.
surrounded by
dervishes, bouncers, junkies, demons, coopers, fetishists, wide boys, the sexually driven, price gougers, rats, backstabbers, power athletes, mixers and shakers,
i blow out my match and withdraw

what will be

in three quarters of an hour
it´s over
i will eat lunch, drink coffee and normal functioning will resume
the usual dirty broken tugboat will start inching around the harbour again
past the stink of the seals
midst the automobile tire halves
the gull calls above piercing, unforgiving
and what will be, will be

december

in december
the memories swamp me
hospital beds,
bottles lobbed in the air
waiting for the crash
a thousand words
ripples caused by words and world events
your breasts, your lips.
you know, it´s the wrong end of the telescope,
not so important,
crumple it up and trash it.
i fear life´s dance floor
i fear the normal interrogations
i fear the dismissive jerk of the head
no-one can turn this ship around
on my behalf.
i shall roll myself another song
and cook myself a new poem

one more

crashing chords and eels winding in the polystrene box
just one more print in the mud
just one more kiss.
mouth, gruel one more time
i am a fool
i am an adjective plus a noun
let me say one more time
i greet the monster machines of medical imagery

and in the cafe next to the hospital
drink coffee, smoke cigarettes and read newsprint
i don´t care
i go on one more time

vortex

sudden vortex :
no, I hadn´t compared my deserted childhood ( real )
with an image
of normal life, of women and men fucking and fighting.
not chalk and cheese, just chalk
one image facing off against the other
two mirrors fight
and my sentences, prescriptions, cries, dramatic and romantic phrases
reduced to nought

tuppence is tuppence
not much
and not nothing

mummy

mummy !
i have stifled this cry
killed this signal
pulled the hospital curtain to.

snow on the streets blinds little oedipus;
in turning away from her,
her cold outsides,
her coarse cloth,
i turned off my life.

a part

and the snack gets eaten.
i don´t know,
nothing is written on my board
many are dying and i stand apart from the brothers
no better than any other pebble moved by the swelling waves

sinfonia poetica em 5 passos

flying in the hours of darkness
crying and sobbing

sign ship launches its epic,
signifier complete with salt and barnacles,
signified : simply sound and fury

skin is tough and porous
let the tears out
and hold the pain off

nothing is revealed,
well, how could it be otherwise ?

AND DEATH SHALL HAVE NO DOMINION

voices

she wants
space, time to think,
to step back and find her voice
but voices without talk
are self-indulgent tyrants

not alone

backpack, supplies,
down the track which fades into the desert
modern hermit, tin cup clinking,
seeking locusts, honey and truth
yet not alone :
with him, in every pore of his body
the English language
and the truth he may find
will be of those isles.

one

one
one foot
in
front
one foot in front of

the
other

a postcard

stop snivelling and crying, said the priest
haven´t you got a handkerchief ?
he opened a drawer and gave me a neatly folded square
from the same drawer he produced a photo of a couple fucking
he tossed it onto the table
it´s not a moral universe, said he
it´s chemical and sexual
attraction, desire, negation, rejection
he stood up, I got to my feet
he punched my upper arm playfully
"now, you go out and rip it up ! "
I kissed the ring on the proffered hand,
felt the rough cloth of the sleeve.

as we were saying

for example,
lee perry´s recording studio got burnt down,
the FARC people also grin and laugh.
you can be earnest
a red-hot branding iron in hand
you can stand before the ocean,
the mother of us all,
yes, you can grasp at the winds
whilst the salt air fills your lungs.
the dark hulled ships nearing the shore
will send you scurrying back into your hole,
yes, you´re right to take precautions.

doctor

doctor ! doctor !
I have a problem with my eyes,
it all just passes me by

untitled

I write,
I wish to right my ship
but she´s taken in so much
cold Atlantic water
and cod thrash on the deck.
Seasick, salt crusted,
many, many leagues from port
and the sweetness of women,
I manage to fire a signal rocket for the distressed,
for those who don´t know,
keep working the pumps,
davy jones is putting feelers out for you
keep working the pumps
the masts will break,
you will hallucinate mermaids, porpoises, portuguese men-of-war,
but hydraulics, red and green lights...
yes, you´ll reach land.

the madeleine blues

these are the madeleine blues
where you stare
at an empty wall

these are the madeleine blues
when you avoid
looking in the mirror

these are the madeleine blues
you´re a day late
and a dollar short

and you walk the long road
to sing
the madeleine blues

every second

like some reconvalescent
every inch, every minute counts
that is the savagery of the protestant super-ego
how in god´s name can this stupid child exist and live in this complicated world ??
but the ground sings...

bathwater

the baby, the bathwater:
try to avoid stupid gestures
the word becomes flesh
and the steps you take have meaning
your drunken staggering
and hurling empty beer bottles into the air
could have brought you to the methadone clinic in toronto.
so you are lucky,
some ray of sunshine
warmed you
and your breathing eased,
yes !

I am a jellyfish

a jellyfish,
I have little own direction
stinging those who touch
arms flailing
arms reaching out for love

my world III

knot m ´aiee
gnat gnaw
know nda
nit meye
whirled
natt o mi
werd bubl, is
water !
please ! water !

my world II

I know the time is coming soon
or is long past
- it´s always later than you think -
to take this world as it is
and do what is to be done
I know
I know

my world

and if you were to ask me
how am I doing ?
and if my guard were down
I would burst into tears
and seek to bury my face in your lap :
not my world, it´s not my world.

flight

flight from desire is impossible,
and misguided
why even try ?
in order not to get hurt,
a dishonourable and futile aim.
get on board your brig and set sail
for foreign shores
and foreign perils

patterns in white

spray and sweat pouring off my face
down to the cabin
my friend, will you take my sperm in your mouth ?
for me it would mean your absolute love
but for you it would be capitulation
and so we look away
and I stare at the abstract patterns,
the cracks in the white metallic paint.

islands

child woman man :
islands in your mind,
millions of islands.
the sea lions barking,
water eroding and rebuilding,
the bulls tearing chunks of flesh out of one another,
a few decomposers do the rest.
stronger than any stupid little drug.

minutiae

coffee, a glass of milk, breakfast struggling in my stomach,
outside the hammers clanging.
she kissed me this morning
I desired her body under the crisp clothes
denied, I am nervous, muddled
my face set rigidly.

blow by blow

blow by tattered blow,
speaking slowly
chameleon moves
here and there in spacetime
was is could be why not wasn´t shouldn´t couldn´t
don´t or do !

seven

now we are seven
years ?
no, months
and she left me in the hole
she left me with the onions

how it is

you pays your money
you get some beer
you turn to the left
and the cops are still right behind you
you found ecstatic moments
keep looking, only you have eyes

no-one there

Mark left a tape he had recorded.
It was labelled " my last bugle call" and consisted of white noise and the creaking of an armchair. DNA tests revealed traces of his sperm on the tape.

lord have mercy on his modern soul !

he left his droppings hidden here and there and then assumed and expected that later someone would examine them and pass judgement over him. he visualised the scientific moustache and the steel rimmed glasses. that is the concern of the historians and biographers - NOT HIS BUSINESS !
in short he did not define himself, he was too anxious, too irresolute and too indolent

yes

yes, he saw the photos
her naked breasts, the strange look on her face
and once again,
his precepts forgotten,
he threw himself into the vortex of desire
why ?
and why not ?
as the fire tears through the bush

right and wrong

Lost in right and wrong.
He said, son that´s not right.
Since then I`m all wrong :
the good, the bad, the right, the wrong
and I stand here screaming.

love mummy

A : say you love me
B : yes
A : and just me ?!
B : my son, I am a person...
A : NO !
B : ... and I love you
A : just me, say you love just me !
B : I am a person
A : the person, who gave me life. without you I would not BE
B : you' re saying i' m just your birth machine, a means to your ends
A : mummy, I NEED YOU
B : and me, am i nothing in this world, don't i have needs, don't i have desires ? i am person, just like you. open your eyes.
A ( crying)
B : your eyes aren't for crying but for to see this world. wipe away your tears. open your eyes.
A : NO !
B : sweetheart
A : NO !! NO, NO. please don't
B : sweetie, wipe the tears from your eyes.
A : no i can't. you glued them shut; you told me I don' t exist.
B : don't talk to me like that. we'll send you to bed with no supper.
( pause)
A : how long will this go on ?
B: as long as you live, sweetie

that tiny click

was that click her door opening ?
mamma, who will take me in her arms
and whisper that everything is going to be alright !

silently

drink my tea, my conventions,
early morning, dark outside,
i eat an apple.
my head is weary.
time is inexorable, comes then goes.
i stand silently screaming :
what was, what could have been,
and the flurry of interpretations.
a sudden gust leaves them as a crumpled mess of papers in the corner of the room.
the door swings, windows bang.