Inno di Mameli

in the morning,
over worn stone steps,
the Italian artisans walked inside.

the lady was hiding her head under the covers,
a fresco recently made of her ass;

it was like an tasty island rimmed with collector's red lipstick,
freshly painted on the nearby marble ceiling.

waving her arms
in the eighteenth-century manner,
she rose from her bed
and headed to the bathroom,
stepping over an ample supply of caviar.

the artisans stopped smoking their opium
as she walked down the wide hall;

no man whistled or thought of a pick up on the street,

even though one of them was a Turk!

an artificial lake in the porcelain bowl,
like a small grotto in a nearby park,
held her false teeth from the night before.

when she finished with her makeup application,

she reached for her sunglasses and put them on.

it was almost evening before she set about
assembling a breakfast from ripe olives, tobacco, and red wine.

a crowd of visitors were already
in her kitchen, 

tossing hand grenades among themselves
while they watched her eat.

she was very, very cool, chewing slowly.

when she finally finished her last sip of fine Piedmont wine,
everyone came to attention and saluted.

one woman soon played a snare drum and 

a small dwarf grabbed his acoustic guitar.

the crowd began to sing Inno di Mameli.

but i wouldn't see her again until the following year,

by which time the artisans would be finished with their tasks.

she wasn't green or blue

she wasn't green or blue
as she lounged about in bed
her hair was fairly dark
long body painted red
an oriental lamp
a table made of steel
a pine tree in a Mason jar
which couldn't have been real
a sketchbook and a head
whittled down to only ears
a harlequin with folded face
and sad eyes filled with tears
a rain cloud in the window
umbrellas flying past
her lonely heart still beating for
a love that's made to last.

Erich Priebke

Priebke died in his ripe old age 

but

as a younger man, 

he was a captain wearing a fancy SS uniform,

with God on his side, a holster,
and a fierce Nazi salute in the streets of Rome.

years after the 1936 Olympics,

where a black man in Berlin
silenced the adoring crowds of
blond smiles and white teeth
with his flash of muscular brilliance,

Priebke participated in his own ceremony:

the 1944 massacre
of Italian civilians in the Ardeatine caves
near Rome.

it might have been the highlight of Priebke's career!

but he never shied away
from his enjoyment of
hating minorities and other gypsies,
who sang and danced and drank pure German beer

with the pretty flower vendors in the streets of Munich,
in halls far from Der Marienplatz.

Guitar, 2015

the North Korean leader said to
prepare for war
and what is more
the behavior of subatomic particles
is fundamentally unknown to the many people
the world over
who have fetishes.
Putin, meanwhile, acting like a rag with no intention of selling
his shares of the Black Sea,
kept squeezing all the piss and vinegar
from nearby Ukraine, hoping
the natural laws would seem less menacing,
the nails in his head would no longer cut his hands,
and a guitar found dead near the Moskva river
would no longer seem like such a paradox.
the threatening noise from that shadow rising in the East,
like a sorcerer's apprentice,
grew harder
when i slipped my
finger inside her panties.
it was winter and the snow geese stayed busy in the snow.
i asked if she'd like a coffee.
it was always a cold day in Hell but warmer near my wood fire,
the grey mantle rocks radiating their protective heat as
her soft moans reassured me that my fingers
were generating
an illusion of protection against the gathering storm.
she said she'd love a cup of coffee.
Einstein was close with his famous notion of general relativity,
which is deterministic,
and he had no intention of selling his idea to just any bidder.
he spent many years hard at work with sticks and stones
and strings,
trying to answer the question of how to tie the button.
both the Bishop and the Iman tired to ignore him
and their many allies also feigned disinterest while
from a close distance
they watched me kissing her neck,
becoming especially aroused when her two lovely breasts
were exposed.
suddenly, no one could guess what would happen next!
that much was certain,
while she and i sipped coffee together on my sofa, laughing.

snow devils

she lived in the mountains of Colorado for the winter
and her skis did a lot of talking.
between runs there was coffee
and a warm fire,
and any conversation quickly heated up
from the front side.
to me she gave a huge sigh and said
"of course you may join me"
but i was under temporary arrest after taking a shower
with a soapy stranger in the hallway room
where the overhead fan when turned on made a noise.
you know the place.
once i escaped, i noticed that she had a large Picasso hanging over
her fireplace which was crooked.
the artist would have enjoyed the irony.
like people, paintings are better seen when they
are out of place.
and i learned to ski later in life, probably i'd say
i was 40 and afraid on the bunny slopes.
elementary aged girls gave me suggestions and
then turned down slope with a grace that seemed
subversive to my envious eyes.
coffee or not, what makes a great day is one
that you fashion yourself.
i often thought about moving to Colorado in the spring
of 1926 when i told everyone to move west.
"move west," i often said.
there are skeletons in the mountains there,
and snow devils,
and it is such fun to touch the sky.

A Clear Mountain Stream

there are multitudes of
brown leaves on a broken creek.
it's the season of Christmas,
and the snow is dirty white against a red background
Inside, a smoking seamstress is stitching
together a picture of lonely people
with no one particularly in mind;
the infrequent source of the next twenty years,
the clear mountain stream,
is flowing all the way from Never Never Land
where the lost boys live
looking for their marbles,
as she sits across the street with her
sewing machine
treadling away rhythmically.
underneath a persistent sun,
warming shadows
and in the dead of night,
a bicycle and a rocking horse
and a man wearing a black mask.
a plaster cast sits near her open window,
a small part of a still life
switched at birth
in the famous maternity ward where
everyone who enters is registered as a guest
from dawn to dusk
and in between all the parts and participles of time.
the crisis confronting her is
accurately identifying everything she pieces together:
a solitary figure is represented as an all-important foot
placed next to a seated man whos' grey beard is reading
a fairy-tale story about a goblin
underneath a bridge
with an unending line of zeros and ones
erupting from his mouth.
but one cannot be entirely sure
because everything is barely discernible.
a blond and a brunette and probably a mistress,
periodically opening the door
to a wallpapered wall,
found enough ideas for a lifetime,
which is the utmost limit of our time on Earth.
her sewing machine continued to thread a needle
while the mountain stream preserved memories which
sparkled in the sunlight.

Near Vladimir is Where?

he might not actually die
but from the dark wall i heard him cry
with a sharp needle stuck deeply into his Russian arm
like an angry plow blade in dirt on a communal farm.
looking up from a narrow balcony
he caught a fleeting glimpse of me.
i saw him watching a solitary woman frown;
he saw her golden hair was turning brown
and didn't want to let her down;
he thought it high time to sound a national alarm,
so i ran upstairs for a quick ten minutes
to find them both in high good looks.
scattered on the floor were religious books,
other stolen relics from their historic past,
and cold drinks in a hot room meant to last
until my visit came to its' awkward end.
yes, i might have been a former friend
but our conversation was not a great success
i left feeling more downs than ups:
i must have drank too much and was too far advanced in my cups
many others had lost their way on the descending stairs,
some very strong characters with plenty of cares
and the weaker ones who haven't fared as well
when looking from east to west for a tolling bell.
they lost collective nerve and fell.
he critically blamed me for all his imagined woes:
his small stature, the frost-bitten toes
and those pervasive feelings of neglect and fear;
even the torch-carrying lady wouldn't blindly tread near
as he laid on his most personal charms.
i heard him threaten her with force of arms
but she didn't go to pieces all of a sudden
like some other girls did.

but would not die

i was a gentleman
standing on the street corner
minding the store
at a quarter past four
when black-masked men stormed the door
disturbing everyone with their extreme hate
and it was too late
for several who went to the floor
automatic rifles had already begun to roar
dictating death
cartoonists who once penciled in lines
fell to the two Muslim gunmen who drew bright red
and calmly fled
before they in turn were killed by French policemen
in Paris, the magazine Charlie Hebdo bled
for what was portrayed not for what was said
yet freedom of speech will not die
and any sane person can understand why.

Still Life with Fishing Net

blue eyes
standing like a ram's head
while all the pretty young ladies
thought he might be dead
by the end of the following day.
sure, his guitar looked old but it continued to play,
and with a new mandolin
and a fresh fruit dish,
his first idea
was to get his latest birthday wish:
an allegorical magic like a common law wife
changing completely the course of his busy life,
and a candle dripping wax onto his naked arm
reminded him that age has a certain passing charm.
in the soft sand he found an empty fishing net
and since the surf was about to make it wet
he decided to keep it for himself,
secretly placing it on a hard-to-reach black shelf
where for more than sixty years it was out of sight.
one day he decided to paint the shelf white
and instead of a net, he found a solitary fig,
a glass tumbler and the head of a promiscuous pig.
he searched for an answer but didn't know,
knocking down a few walls in his studio
to get a better view of the neighborhood bars:
newer girls smiled from their passing cars.
he saw all he needed to make a choice:
a woman approached with a gravelly voice.
blue eyes
asked her to sing him a song
and she agreed but only if he'd sing along.
for twenty years they rambled and roared
over piles of books and never grew bored.

guessing and looking again

Pablo said that Cubism was full of deception,
but nothing was more deceptive than his lies
which blinded his wife's vaginal eyes.
each time she cut her hair short
she seemed too frail to withstand his
phallic nose,
so he sniffed around in other places,
finding yet another vagina,
this new one lower than his waist,
as he sat with his back to the sea
calmly drawing her a tattoo of a snake
which might have been a baby.
with her candy floss hair and a tarnished finery,
she watched with her mouth agape,
her face between his Spanish feet
smaller than his smile.
another vagina with reddish arms once gave him
a shoe which he wore to a convention
of art lovers where a giant breast tripped him
and he fell into the heart of the matter,
asking himself repeatedly why an orange smells like
a kiss.

Please be careful

"Please be careful."
it was all he said
he wasn't as dull as expected
that was all in her head
and there were no roadblocks
nothing physical could be seen
she disappeared into a silence
as if into a dream:
it might have been dangerous
she might have been tied up in chains
she might have been overcome
by torrential rains
the first time that he saw her
he was too shy to speak
he held her and he loved her
and he kissed her for a week
her toes in a warm bath
he cooked for her every day
yet when she was anxious
he didn't force her to stay:
he seemed almost too innocent
he talked with the softest word
and when she spoke and called his name
there was nothing else he heard.

North Korea

trying to live in Heaven
found myself in Pyongyang instead
passed security at the train station
found a cheap hotel bed
it was summer and i needed help
and no one was putting on airs
i went looking for an elevator
but ended up taking the midnight stairs
i flirted with a poor maid
for twenty won she gave me her best daylight frown
i stopped suddenly and looked harder
everyone else kept looking down
i heard my door knocking
it opened so I went running outside
a man in a military suit followed me
i was determined to find a safer place to hide
and i was hungry and needed to eat
i saw a dog's ear on a dinner plate,
a little boy with a single piece of white rice;
his sister wanted it but she was much too late
there were starving people sleeping on the road
i knew they had no private hotel
and i wanted to get some needed sleep
but i didn't feel none too well:
a quiet doctor led me to a riverbank
we heard a marching band
and when the lights began their search
she offered me her hand.

trying to live in Heaven

i was too focused on her smile:
her eyes are brown and sparkle
i spent an afternoon redecorating the house
i was just about finished when she called
it's been five years since our first kiss, i thought
i remembered how she laughed when she said,
"our bacteria like the exchange!"
she was a cook and a farmer
before she became the skipper of a large sailboat
i used to plow a field when i was younger
i wore a beard at the time
she likes to sit by her gas fire and read
whatever she wants to read
i make her black coffee and read
whatever i want to read
she especially likes Chardonnay
i like Merlot
there was a deadbolt on her front door
she would want it in the lock position
when we pretended to be Zorro and his sword
i could stand it for about four days
it was like trying to live in Heaven.

tossed pillows on the floor

inside was where the imaginary summer wind blew
in December when it was cold and snowed outside
and the town folk stranded by the wind-whipped sea
settled down with me to take a sip of avant-garde tea.
no one understood the price we'd have to pay
each distance could have been very great or too far
and in the end i refused to commit myself.
i pulled another great book from the factory shelf
to read about a relentless game of quid pro quo:
i was determined to come out ahead.
i tried to get some recent work done,
willing to toil until the rise of another stainless steel sun
but it was dark and all the poets were still asleep;
a number of painters had a supply of drawings
which enabled some of them to eat a meal.
i slid into my car and got behind the wheel.
there would be bouts of drinking and suicides
and i covered my entire face with ragtime,
adjusted the radio, and pulled the top down
to the nape of my neck to hide my frown.
i found a studio assistant in a guest cottage
and she agreed to bring me back down to earth.
she used a black satin sofa and a cafe chair
while i tossed pillows on the floor seemingly without a care.

She was once a dancer

this is new
the first time that i walked this way
i went into a local stadium looking for the game
but nobody there came out to play
i saw a sidewalk pigeon
who kept eating her black seed
she talked to me in excitement
asked me just what it was i need
so i pulled at her heart strings
i found a new mandolin and guitar
we enjoyed tremendous popularity
but never really got too far
she showed me her friendly joker
he wore a golden crown just like a famous king
i fell into his blind circle
and never saw another goddamn thing
i wore a top hat in the day light
i had a mistress on the side
one man I met said he knew all the secrets of life
but he always lied
so I walked away from my hometown
the first chance i had i sat in the front row
surprise might be the great new source of energy
but i didn't know where else to go
my hands were cold in the darkness
a blue moon floated overhead in the sky
the upper body of a girl was buried like a still life
and i simply couldn't figure out why
i promised her a toast
she promised me a new start
but she was dying from all her failed loves
and i had a weak heart
I woke again the following Monday
hurried over to provide whatever help i could
she told me once she was a dancer
i told her once I had been no good
and in the center of a great hall
i found her white gloves folded on the plaster floor
she thanked me with a fine kiss
and i never once asked her for anything more.

what i most feared

in pink georgette,
the bathing belle
held my hand
at the very last moment
before the stage curtain was raised.
i heard a cry
and was so excited by the sound
i dropped my cigarette,
narrowly missing a sexy gigolo
crawling on the floor
in his swimsuit
which was little else but passing fashion.
i had difficulty getting a grip on my lines
which made it difficult for me to hear the music
and the rubber slippers made it difficult to dance.
but in the long run
my feelings for the Beau Monde
played a large part in my decision
to quit writing and pretend i had had enough.
i was seized with momentary disgust,
ran into the seated audience,
took my seat and became a pessimist.
when the curtain was raised,
i saw nothing but snobbery
doing nothing but fluttering about,
which is what i most feared in the world.

small boy in white

Out on the boardwalk
the air was warm,
the sun was hot in a boiling mess
and I felt like a whistling teapot
swimming to the beach.
I was forced to confess
when you asked me to consider the future
that I could barely tread water,
But I digress
Sitting on a spot of wet sand from where i watched the tide:
It never tried to hide.
It went out first,
came back in stride.
In and out.
You were by my side
pointing to a speeding boat.
I heard what you had to say.
A repeat from yesterday.
I wanted to leave, to run, to play
I saw a wide moat
between us where the swirling waters swirl.
I had to step over it to get to the street
where some interesting people meet.
There I saw a small boy wearing clean clothes;
he mounted a bike which had training wheels attached.
I wondered what plan he had just hatched
as he coasted by on the sidewalk,
but he didn't talk.
When he came to the moat where the swirling waters meet
he didn't stop, either,
so i figured he knew how to swim.
And the air was warm
which might explain why he wasn't wearing any shoes,
but whatever he did, it was his to choose.

where are you now?

where are you now?
i can almost imagine you somewhere, somehow

i am alone on the carpeted floor
waiting for more
looking at my silent front door
it's as quiet as it was once before

so help me
i can't watch any more TV
but it's all i can ever hope to see

i once heard you call my name
just another part of your daily game
there was no one else to blame
morning or night it's all the same

where are you now?
i can almost imagine you somewhere, somehow

so help me
i can't watch any more TV
but it's all i can ever hope to see

you swung an ax and hit thin air
went on searching everywhere
for whom you sought i didn't care
there was no difference foul or fair

where are you now?
i can almost imagine you somewhere, somehow

so help me
i can't watch anymore TV
but it's all i can ever hope to see

where are you now?
i can almost imagine you somewhere, somehow

Pearl

Neil Young was in the playground
fooling around with his tambourine

Bob Dylan huffed & puffed on the swinging set
but his ol'Zimmerman just couldn't be seen

with Jimi tripping in his garden
watering a psychedelic flower
he said there were many more among us
all along the famous watching tower

three riders fast approaching
David Bowie floated into outer space
his mother said she loved Bing Crosby
who had an honest crooner's face

but never sang with Stevie Nicks
so he never broke her chain
never got to ride her landslide
in a midnight pouring rain

and the Grateful Dead were grateful
for the cold smoke up their nose
but even Elvis Presley didn't know
which way his old hound dog goes

Roy Orbison watched her leave
he saw her shopping on the street
she came walking back his way
hoping they would meet

in the jailhouse or on the blue bayou
where a bad moon was on the rise
he looked around just about midnight

and saw the woman who had the most perfect eyes

no Patti Smith with her sad lament and sighs

she was a small town girl from Texas
who thought she'd give the big time life a whirl
Big Brother and the Holding Company:

we all knew her name was Pearl.

white room with black curtains

One was too terrified of death to be near,
let alone view the body or attend the funeral,
so he fled with his penis in his ear.
henceforth, some friends would see the dick coming
and keep their distance.
they properly mourned the passing of the decade by paying their respects,
drinking until five a.m. and still
managing to stay sober during the morning service.
but the death was not unexpected, even though Woodstock
was never the same after the third day when the stone was
removed and all the wet tents came down with the wet dreams.
in an irrational rage, several haggard protesters started a petition claiming
they would always remember their summer of love!
Creedence objected and had a brief moment of justification
when several people claimed they had been born on the bayou,
but it wasn't enough to stop the crowd from blowing their brains out
on the taxi ride home.
another one was too terrified of death to hail a cab,
let alone drink a lot of cheap wine or stay up past his bedtime,
so he also fled with his penis in his ear.
his remaining friends spread the rumor that he had taken the
New York thruway south all the way to Atlanta, Georgia,
where he bought his first McDonald's franchise.
even though he was born under a bad sign, he played
Cream over the PA system eight hours a day,
looking for a white room with black curtains.
all of his southern customers were happy capitalists
who kept time to the music while ignoring the lyrics.
no one remembered Woodstock,
but everyone could see the dick coming.

The Vietnam War

Westmoreland went south
Looking for his compass
Which he had never read;
He hired an aide with glasses
Who couldn't speak the language,
So they signed together with their hands.
In the growing darkness
They looked for a light
At the end of a tunnel:
What they found instead
Was a toilet.
They wanted an air conditioned room
On the uppermost floor
Of the Rex Hotel
But none was available,
So they demolished the building.
When the smoke settled
They threw their hands up in exasperation
And claimed victory.
A crowd of astonished onlookers
Gathered their press passes
And headed to the five o'clock follies
Where a final briefing was in progress.
They took notes and used the undamaged toilet.
Later, everyone gathered at the roof-top bar for a drink
When they arrived home the following day,
they expected a parade.
They never found one.



,

counting the countless dead

running through the jungle
hands and knees on a hard tunnel floor
a man without an arm and missing an eye
kept looking for the long lost war
with time passing inside his head
counting the countless dead
he held tightly to his dream
while
i kept hearing a dark haired woman scream
red dragon fruit dying on her hand
balls of jellied fire hanging in the Buddhist sky
like napalm burning fertile land
with time passing inside her head
counting the countless dead
she pointed strangely at the night
while
a city exploded almost completely out of sight
mountains of dust and incessant traffic noise
of motor scooters anxious to please
millions of hungry young girls and boys
with time passing inside their head
counting the countless dead
while
steady rains wash away the blood
of black boots and rice paddy faces
the tall towers of new concrete and steel
disguising all former traces
with time passing inside my head
counting the countless dead.

the fat lady danced

i drove into the oldest part of town
and there she sat on an empty window sill
a fancy cigarette hanging from her hand
and inside her mouth a psychedelic pill
she was the only girl on the entire block
with two legs kicking instead of twenty four
a wind blowing papers which she wouldn't read
against the bottom of her back door
some cats played music in the middle of the street
humming a southern spirituality tune
one stray dog sleeping until he was done
started howling at a shadow of the moon
his both eyes red and two ears hanging way down low
he started licking himself where he felt it hurt
stretching he went looking for his next meal
he knew it was time to get to work
when a saloon exploded like a house of cards
guns firing at whisky bottles on the bar
and there she sat on an empty window sill
waiting for me to get out of my damn car
an elephant and a brown bear with balls
juggling coins in a game of pure chance
far down the line marched a traveling band
playing a sweet song of  adolescence romance
behind the circus tent in an alley full of fire
the fat lady danced her weight inside the ring
a crowd of drifters sitting around spellbound:
they all waited to hear her sing.

The Devil in the Flesh

she couldn't float her pointed little brown-tipped stick
on the tepid water of a completely full bathtub.
i watched her struggle for an hour while i sipped Russian Vodka
flavored with very ripe yellow peaches earlier picked from a
neighbor's tree, the skins removed with a sharp knife and
left for two weeks quartered inside a large Mason jar.
she wasn't interested in deeper conversation and had no
curiosity for my home made concoction, devoting herself
entirely to delving into the silly supernatural of uncertainty,
splashing and protesting and repeating "Yes, yes, I know."
also, she was smoking opium.
her wet hands would occasionally
slide each fingertip across a dry bath towel.
the nails were painted purple,
as were her full lips which parted when she furrowed her brows.
before falling under the spell of her latest efforts, i was sitting next to
Raymond Radiguet in a small anteroom indulging in alcohol and
bouts of artistic martyrdom.  we ended up drinking a bottle of whisky and a
bottle of gin before i mentioned anything about Vodka and
only as a last resort, to stop the girl from leaving our company with her little
stick.  it was too late.  she stood confidently.
Raymond and i were both infatuated with her ass and allowed our eyes
to follow her movements when she shattered our repose by moving
abruptly to leave the room.
his health was deteriorating so i was instantly chosen to rush by
her side.
even in my weakened condition, i opened the door for her to pass as
she took her leave.
i took my Vodka and a glass.
i might have hallucinated, but we ended up in a room with a completely
full bathtub.
try as she might, she couldn't float her pointed little brown-tipped stick
and i never saw Raymond again.