[d/dn]

bad boy scouts wearing red bandannas & hiking boots prowl the outdoor bars bringing alpine airs to ljubljana – i won’t be climbing the steps to the castle won’t conquer what’s not even there (the view the haze) instead i’ll walk around photographing pink buildings for you … do you remember that cold afternoon at…

so i made some tapes from sonsg i ripped off the internet fed the cabel from the computer into my [pre-ipod] walkman but the songs all came out mono got the wrong stereo jack so now i listen to the songs in one ear while the other tries to hear leans in yearns for the…

well it’s summer in sipan & the town is full of models they’re all at the restaurant but they’re only eating entrees while the eunuchs dart around making stressful little sounds in the leafy hotel grounds we ate dinner then we ran yeah that summer in sipan well it’s summer in sipan we go riding…

the planes fly well overhead now & couples no longer dawdle down by the jetty where an old dinghy rises & falls on the fluke waves of passing powerboats … & now cicadas chorale across an empty bay old pipes protrude from the muddy shallows & the trees though blooming still billow untended & unloved…

she emerges from the bobble- cordoned bathing area with her pigtails wet & sticking out like unicorn horns from the back of her head – instantly she’s a girl again the shining happy memory of herself as a strong swimmer dancer & singer all at once like a sea monkey queen reacting with water swirled…

in vietnam of course we’d all be considered peasants up to our necks in sweat & sun cancers – our tans coooked in a coconut sauce the cannibal implications of which i don’t care to explore but here where a thousand & one dalmations sizzle on stones with all the intelligence of their namesakes those…

i could murder a cigarette but i’ll hold off for now – the time is not right – & if i ignite here wow who knows what might go up with me there in the stratos, in the fear the wind-up bird that’s growing old constrained at every turn the signs to left & right…

the parchment’s overgrown now & flies no longer buzz down by the hydro-electric facilities – the bus route’s open for business all along it twenty four hour cafes spring up like pillboxes some people speak of screams in the night houses on fire & some barely speak at all just a fingerbone or shattered skull…

could you be flirting with me (tiny periwinkle of a trip-hop soundtrack? was that a smile (pretty vacuous air bubble at the bottom of this glass? come here slide down my throat (abstract freckle of a thirst quencher hobo of the backwash past (reboot the soda stream of our invisible passions (poet of the cafe…

(1) crystal: dignitary portraits his men clean-shaven the women stern children on sleds if you remember rightly panoramas of coal mine towns silly dogs chins pointing to the future the sun – gold haloes spirits with whiskers windowframes … (2) crumpled: just out of bed or home from a long night of drinking all traces…

you dispense with direct emotion/ experience & become the second person the observer – it’s safer here you see & as for your reader well she’s gone her own way she’ll meet you later in the old town – for now be content to sit & watch as tourists wait impatiently for their boat to…