in abendland our eyes only reflect
the windows of real estate agencies
couples roam there; small dogs shit
wherever they like; everyone has a
slightly bulging belly in abendland
& guitar music is de rigeur; words
like de rigeur are never used; rivers
flow & wood are pictures hung up in
galleries frequented on sundays &
feastdays only; post offices never
close; old audio cassettes remain
relatively unavailable sought after
only by newcomers; phone calls are
monitored & can only be made from
inside hastily-assembled booths; &
there are no television channels –
only movies with in-built & hard to
avoid advertisements; girls wear
stripes & old boots that make their
ankles look skinny; boys maintain a
gruff persona only enhanced by their
permanent thirty six hour growths;
love is an absence, or closing time;
garbage piles up but nobody seems
concerned in abendland; beer comes
in bottles that the homeless can
collect & then exchange for pennies
or one more beer; poetry has not
yet been invented nor cricket which
would be absurd; simply wait in line
for your university qualification;
break your baguettes in half so that
they fit more easily inside plastic
bags; buy slippers that muffle the
sounds your feet make as they pace
the confines of your apartements;
but never sleep or smoke or stare –
here in abendland staring is only
for real estate agents & couples
looking through windows & the poor
little turkish boys in our dreams
Tag: Abendland (page 2 of 12)
i hear lady vader's footsteps
clang on the stainless steel
gangway; i look busy attending
to my knobs & flashing buttons
but the dark side is so strong
in this one that i am forced
to switch on an emergency power
generator - red lights bleed
across my console & i swivel
in my chrome-plated bauhaus /
ikea captain's chair to face
her wrath should it ever come
there is another death star i
explain it contains no flaws
unlike its predecessors into
whose plans lord vader for some
reason saw fit to introduce
design elements that would
make a first year engineer
blanch; perhaps he knew even
then something of his fate -
or else at central casting he
overheard a script development
meeting ... were those two
hideously greige orbs a kind
of metaphor for his own body's
penetration fantasy a slight
shudder as the x-wing entered
the duct? how else to explain
the ridiculous ease with which
those rebels identified our
killing machines' weakness -
other than by referring to that
space (in vader)? my lady i
digress - & our plans progress
would you care to inspect? with
a slight limp she follows me
down to the docking bay where
our transport awaits - after
you i murmur giving way so as
to watch as her plastic skirts
sashay hinting at the power of
that incredibly spherical
argh-!
took a photograph of sunday night
then blew it all onto a wall in paint
something stirs in the brittle light –
almost like your first vacation’s
abrupt denoument; studio sounds
erupt into white (the power’s down)
this wasn’t scripted neither were
your forearms’ shudders – closing
in on abstract stalks that make a
silhouette in green a single figure
walks on your microscopic moon
but he’s a fake the painting’s done
in someone else’s living room now
on corsica perhaps in a sun room
or brightening the concrete day …
alone at last in a private church
where guardrails keep the volk at
bay or catalogue this desperate
silence that makes photorealistic
snow swept the candles gutted or
a chair pushed back like a lock
of black & white hair; poised for
an ironic pose jackie onassis is
becoming bored reading newsprint
on the freshly-plastered walls …
inside an album sleevenotes keep
their peace; & revolutions occur
on a momentary basis swinging on
chandeliers borrowed from the cast
(we all need to eat) in this essay
at last the landscape is given its
due & sleighbells ring out like
broadway tunes or stolen dogs &
here at last stands gerhard richter
Sleeping through the pouring rain
Filling up the lakes and rivers she
Came to my dark dream bed &
Read me stories from a strange
Book (turned the pages like a
Grave & held me close under the
Nightlights smoking marijuana in
My mind†- trucks speed onto
Autobahns while phone booths
Hold the sodden homeless pity
Breathes all through the fog but
Sometimes life just doesn’t hear
It (got a message from a stranger
Held the phone until she hangs
Up smoking marijuana in my mind
-†Radios are all tuned to static in
the european union traffic cops
hold glowing beacons if the time
was ever slowing (did I hear a baby
crying dogs on leashes are street-
sweepers / trams are cancelled
parties starting in the pawn shops
money changes hands – & in the
market stands but I’m smoking
marijuana in my mind†- emails
from the great spam merchants
in the sky the old clouds flutter
past then dump their share of rain
yesterday’s was just as drenching
(cities in the sleeper’s eye windows
slamming / pain’s devoid of future
meanings songs come to an end
until I’m smoking marijuana in my
mind yeah I’m smoking marijuana
to ease my mind yes indeed I’m
smoking marijuana in my mind
a silent cartoon wanders
the non-descript chaussee
over bridges it casts its
chisel comic-book shadows
illuminated by a passing
policeman’s truncheon light
as air; that withered stare
turns flowerboxes to stones
or the dogs to barking fruit
stalls there in the internet
cafe glare baudelaire calls
burundi for twelve cents –
resenting the booth’s semi-
privacy (one hand in pocket
jiggling … hear the retort
of verlaine’s little gun as
though he’s not there & the
women are all black now in
this frame; thought bubbles
crammed with grammatical
marks suggesting curses in
parlour rooms filled with
that unbearable sound of
harpsichords playing french
tunes … & he sees in this
zone between falling empires
the rest of his days spread
out like a cloak on a corpse
then he sets to work on his
autopsy classifies quickly
my various welts & cuts –
dissecting this version of
humanity that we thought he
left behind in his native
hollowed city of whoredom;
(it becomes unbearable &
he descends upon some poor
white page wraith like the
starling on crumbs of bread
tossed onto the pavement –
near those carefully parked
diplomats’ cars … he flees
the sound of an approaching
score & nina simone’s singing
run to the river to the rock