that woman from Zanzibar

who's that woman in the car?
she looks like she might be from Zanzibar
she's the one gave me an island kiss
when i bellied up to her bar
i have to admit i thought she was pretty young
i paid for the right to show my tongue
but she grabbed her key and tried to leave
all i could hold was her empty sleeve
the band played before they went broke
i took another pull of a hell of a good coke
and the lady with her skills dressed up in drag
hit me another shot with her Gucci bag
if i could find my way without making grand detours
i'd get down on all fours
and if that hurts too much i'll get a new tattoo
of red hearts and a big blue suede shoe
in a tight circle singing Elvis slow
are each of the women who want to know
am i a thief or a circum-navigator?
a cocktail in a glass or a bloody traitor?
oh, one lady gave me pain and i bled
out of control for what i said
staking everything on just one card
she has me figured out so that makes it hard
with another shot of stiff morning rum
an afternoon whiskey and even some
ticket to ride or a naked smile
i won't be leaving here for awhile
who's that woman in the car?
she looks like she might be from Zanzibar
she's the one gave me an island kiss
when i bellied up to her bar

nothing

nothing
nothing nothing nothing
long live the lovely end of time
perhaps a naughty child could find a simple rhyme
nothing else will do
i smoked my last cigarette looking for you
and everything's up in smoke
i'm not a genius but i never got the joke
that's life nowadays
lost in a blur disguised inside a haze
nothing
nothing nothing nothing
long live the lovely end of time
i never found my fortune but i'll always have my dime
nothing else will do
i spent my last day on Earth thinking of you
and everything's up in smoke
i'm not a genius but i never got the joke
that's life nowadays
lost in a blur disguised inside a haze
nothing
nothing nothing nothing
long live the lovely end of time
your dress of diamonds i can not claim as mine
nothing else will do
i spent my last day on Earth thinking of you

3 in the morning in Paris

he wore a tie with a starched collar,

and told me a thousand times

not to holler.

it seems i have no heart

since into the arms of the city of Paris

i went for a new start,

in through a half-French door

i went mostly to settle an old score.

stuffing myself with drink and smoke,

i got down to business;

headed south, went broke.

got to the corner of a crowded square

didn't know what to do when i got there!

but before i died,

i mounted a high horse and replied,

"My dear friends, I'm watching the death heads go by."

they kept swaying past exhaling a heavy sigh

at three in the morning.

i felt as strong as a bull!

without a fair warning

my face was made up like a laughing-stock fool.

it began to rain a thin winter mist.

a grieving woman nearby said she had never been kissed,

and i saw red and she saw blue.

what more can a color-blind boy do?

i straddled her stairs and flew

sniffing and tapping my heels in the street,

completely out of the chill and into the heat:

a vulgar nuisance and a potential cheat.

i jumped into a passing taxi and the hard back seat

leaving the warmth for some solitary cold,

i saw statues of soldiers charging cannons;

they fell young and bold.

my great black Mercedes flashing chrome

i finally escaped Paris and headed for Rome.

oh, my love!

there's nothing to forgive, my love
i was simply entranced
i'm expecting to meet you tonight
in the southern part of France
but don't ever think
i had too much to drink
i was tempted to reply
to that look in your eye
you mustn't feel sorry for me
i saw what i wanted to see

the hurts you don't know how to take
i regret like a thief
they kicked me out of your dressing room
and they swallowed me in grief
but don't ever think
i had too much to drink
i was tempted to reply
to that look in your eye
you mustn't feel sorry for me
i saw what i wanted to see

oh, my love! what a dream you are
carrying flowers and jewels
advertising your kisses and pointing
to all the eager young fools
but don't ever think
i had too much to drink
i was tempted to reply
to that look in your eye
you mustn't feel sorry for me
i saw what i wanted to see

the Doctor will see you now

he was a strange madman
and i was shot up just fine
i'll tell you about it later
after another full glass of wine
yeah,
look at him dead asleep
a scandal in the afternoon
cats are dancing in the street
and dogs howling at the moon
yeah,
look at him in the hall
a burning eye for all the men
who thought he was irresistible
i never saw him laughing again
and that's in the past
behind the neighborhood door
the big Doctor with a golden chain
performs operations on the surgical floor
yeah,
and every time he came
i wondered if it was fair
snapping his handsome fingers
and shaking a foot in the air
yeah,
it could last forever
at his age he pays them well
keeping out the rain and bad weather
he'd rather be a buyer than sell
yeah

a piece of crust

it'll liven you up a bit
if i could have a little tit.
a nibble before tv?
i don't want to miss out completely,
so before i retire,
what would you desire?
i'm getting a cramp,
so please turn off the lamp.
oh, watch how it dims!
i could satisfy your crazy whims:
your small face and feet,
affectionate with everyone you meet,
wrapped like an enigma or a mystery
solely for me,
hovering tightly over my smile,
makes me laugh for a little while
in your delightful apartment.
come on, was i sent?
i'm not a pizza or a Prince.
d'you want my lipstick, since
you need to fix yourself up?
here, have another cup
of Major Dickason's coffee.
what's that you're trying to tell me?
i have the ugliest legs in town?
well, your teeth are crooked and brown!
and i'd like another piece of crust
with my pie, if you must.

Hello Mademoiselle

Hello Mademoiselle.
i came to buy some butter
and left drinking from your well.

strange things flew in the air!
i grabbed my hat and found a coat
hanging by an empty chair.

i went out and slammed the door,
ran down to a whispering beach,
sat listening on the shore.

an echo exactly at midnight
cried softly in moonlit boots;
it paused at dawn in white.

i saw a top hat riding shotgun
in a Rolls chauffeured by fate
when an immense sun,

rising on the high tide line,
stuck a feather in my cap;
it was not at all by design.

i was left feeling naked and hot
but it's a part i play, wondering
if that's everything she's got.

very solemn, straining every nerve
i stood up straight to leave
but fell frantic into a curve

where i peeked across the room
and saw rushing directly at me
the grasping hand of doom:

all those fingers winking
two or maybe three times a second
encouraged me to start thinking

that i were in a fancy show boat.
hanging by an empty chair,
i grabbed my hat and found a coat.

an exhausting night

when you lost your temper
i went running out the evening door
i'm gonna tell you all i did
and not a single word more
i admit i had an exhausting night
it's not always easy knowing what's wrong and what's right
out of time i began following my parading line
but found no angel to share a drink
so what was i to think
i had fallen on my back and still was warm
she wore no wings and her dress was torn
she was nothing if not a big surprise
i had taken her bullet between the eyes
and heard a dog howling death
i was taking my last breath
when i thought of you
what else could i do?
she held my head in her mouth
talking in an accent from the American south
but i didn't force her to say it!
and i wasn't going to play it!
it wasn't quite seven and i was already in Heaven
where the glass was broken and the bar was empty
she took my name and tossed me her key
there's hell to pay if i can't always get my way
can it ever be that one and one equals three?
but there are no more songs to be sung
your name is on the tip of my tongue

the death of her vagina

the death of her vagina
was confirmed by the young doctor,
who was a descendant of the last King
from Hungary.
she offered to read his palm if he could
change her fate, but he was in a mad hurry
to visit a new asylum where there was every imaginable
disorder of life, so
he told her he would include her in a manuscript of his travels
if he ever got around to writing one.
she offered to be his screenwriter if he could
change her fate, but he said he didn't like the movies,
and, anyhow, any film couldn't be successful if all the actors
died before the final credits rolled.
he headed for the exit, and she again offered to read his palm if he could
changer her fate, but he told her he lost his
right hand in the Great War and wouldn't show her the left one
because it had killed a man.
not without ambivalence, he shook himself free and
pausing at the doorway from where he looked over his shoulder to
see her concerned face, he earnestly said,  "The only choice is to live!"

Kingdom of Jordon

He wouldn't listen.

"Don't you see,

I don't agree!"

he said.

She wailed and sobbed and howled,

tossing a soiled rag.

"You couldn't have put it better,"

she hissed.

She was obviously pissed.

He was a skinny man with a thin

wisp of chin hair, very Arab skin, brilliant

chocolate eyes and the nickname of

Flash Gordon.

She was a heavily built,  powerful woman

with hair on her face which ran in her family

from the Kingdom of Jordon.

"Ah! I see!"

she spat.

"I should write your address on toilet paper

and throw it away, it seems."

"Of course," he said as he re-lit a cigarette and blew

smoke in her face.

"You live in a world of dreams!"

and that much was true, as anyone who knew

her would say:

former marriages, divorces, new lovers, ball-and-chain

relationships, or sudden infatuations mixed with the

current hearsay,

but she always broke through whatever the cost.

"At least I'm not lost!"

she screamed in reply;

"And you're still here, and I can only guess why!"

Painting Her in Bed

fitting a naked woman into a square frame
(if she's a mature woman is she still a dame?)
that is the last thing i wanted to do
but the old woman who lived in a shoe
knew there was always one breast too much
or a belly or an ass or a hip and such
and the thigh
in several sketches elicited a man's sigh
for there wasn't any more room for all the flesh
squeezed as tightly as possible inside black mesh
and now her eyes staring straight ahead
made her look like a dangerous female instead
of a tall slim methodical curve
(around which i might stupidly swerve)
keeping time, in perfect rhythm, feet together
her movements unaffected by the weather
she looked perfectly balanced and serious
smooth, diplomatic, almost, dare i say, imperious
but certainly alluring and fit
and i'd like to get a piece of it
with my head in my hands and not missing a word that's said
all this time i'm thinking of painting her in bed.

2 many eyes

I've got as many eyes as you want
and every body's agreed
one frank step forward
and one ready to bleed
your shoes under my bed
I'm not even going to ask
what you're thinking about
I'm removing my mask
but i still have my legs
it's always the same
three steps backward
it's a strange old game
as if in a deep trance
this used to be called romance
in the grip of frightful pain
violating me with your whims
what do you have to gain?
go to it, my dear!
starting over from the start
watching from ambush
like a robber stealing a heart
I've got as many eyes as you want
and every body's agreed
one frank step forward
and one ready to bleed
I'm ready for something
starting over from the start
my hand inside my jacket
massaging my heart.

Paint It Blue

Chain smoking for a cause,
wild eyes fixed on Santa Claus:
his handbag tossed into the back.
The taxi being driven by constable Jack,
gasping in delirium with a new bouquet
of pepper and spices lighting the way,
the trumpets of Jericho inside his head
trying to remember what the Good Book said.
Rushing through traffic at breakneck speed
like a rolling stone forgetting to bleed.
Hairpin turns disappearing under the floor,
adrift in the middle of an American shore.
Strong-smelling urine and long, twisted wires:
smog alerts and climate change fires.
On one side along the northern walls
sitting on steps below Niagara Falls,
he pointed his light but found no relief;
the frenzied citizens called him a thief,
asking each other why they were there,
leaning over the railings in great despair.
No gesture or pose on the southern line
(where humans watched reruns of Andy Devine)
could illuminate what it was all about:
the sound in the distance an improvised shout.
He must have forgotten and no one else knew
the gas tank was bleeding and covered in blue.
Jack headed westerly with his date,
found the valley office and pulled in late:
women's names and graffiti of all kinds
written in obscurity behind yellow lines.
He grabbed an eraser from a school room cage;
the silicon citizens flew into a rage:
a handful of anger and Hollywood Park.
So they hopped in the taxi and drove east after dark
to the sandy beaches of Atlantic City;
they didn't have anything to say that was witty,
their beards harboring fresh tobacco juice.
It was soon time for cooking the infernal goose.
Who is it? Oh, simply man and his desire:
the boardwalk shudders as they're changing a tire!
In any case no abstraction can be made.
They fled that taxi where it laid
in a blaze of footlights and dying laughter.
Paradise and Inferno were what they were after.

99%

I'm a wounded veteran,
ninety nine percent disabled,
at the mercy of the softest blow.
i keep my head held low
just like any honest politician,
if one can be found.
and my cellar is full of lies
dressed in suits and ties,
yawning, stretching, and preparing
for another daily hike
or a low blow to the belly
outside of my neighborhood deli.
towards devout young sinners,
i had no other choice but to go.
"We'll have a party," i thought,
"and look what all I've bought!"
it's not as complicated as it seems:
it's like catching a cold or an airplane,
just a question of times
and unsophisticated rhymes
or simply good connections.
business is business, so I've heard.
and that's what astonishes me:
I've had a hundred chances to be free
yet remain around the dining room table
protesting loudly or not.
like you, my little reader under light,
I'll ham it up with you tonight!
with handcuffs and old revolvers
or pink shrimp and Russian caviar;
our whistles echoing in the street
like steam engines full of heat.

A Plate of Radishes

i had a laugh at myself when i saw how fat she was!
she had her eye on me like a frog on a butterfly,
and i pulled a wing out of my pocket to fly away.
i didn't know what was in her mind, but her hair
turned on her head with the wind,
and what does she do, but begin towards me with a big
smile and a drink in one hand.
so we drank to my health at the curb and talked about the
salamis she smoothly unhooked from her bra, as she had trained for it many
times before.
her technique is perfected and the meat,
it never fails to taste pretty good, as i later learned.
as i said, i wanted to break free or trip her up just to get her goat,
but she was stubborn and her big secret is that she would smear me
with blood if she didn't get her way, so i don't put up a fight, but ask
her for another drink, which i drain in a gulp.  the only trouble is that
its almost noon and other women are running in circles nearby,
bawling and beating their fists in the air, making a hullabaloo, and
i can't hold my glass for the next toast.  i'm all tensed up when i make
my wild dash for freedom, but the plump lady, who had no right to
lay a hand on me, reached out like i was a plate of radishes, and worked
me over.  it never fails, stem and all were eaten.