oh bulgaria! what has money done to you no one here has change girls & striptease club posters make us all less human oh bulgaria! your elevators have doors to trick foreigners pretty girls in miniskirts keep our change as tips oh bulgaria! you serve us red beer & white beer & green salads with…

Like me they cannot speak of a Slavic memory, or Soviet tanks, so they bark all night along the streets of Sofia. The echo is empty, like the cobbled lanes beneath the abandoned Palaces of Culture, Science & Agriculture. Dreams of living & speaking again. Slippery tongue, translated into coffee grounds. Contact with nocturnal demolition…

i sing the throbbing pains of your great nation’s bad coffee hot plates keeping the entropy warm out along the turnpike your name is†dissected by the moon-like stares of motorists stupified by the concrete glare i sing the car electric may it render your oil wars useless though to be truthful walt these you never…

the flow the scarper past rivers red with bombast my eradication plans did yield a smaller grain a compromise burst forth with sibillance! scattered rayguns portray the Jetsons at LAX fields of traffic yielding to the dollar scones with pearl jam or cream (clapton) plays the sorority blues grim dual under-carriage wayfarers underfoot buried seeds…

I can hear Union Station pealing, taking its constitutional in the green mile mall. The siren has gout. Speculation rises to the roof of the Capitol. Liberty then falls, alas. The ambassador’s ambulance driver rides the whoopy-whoo for some arcane reason – cf Dan Brown. I’m making my own monument to pole dancing: electric ambivalence.…

Red/stop hands reflect on the sides of passing silver buses. Who can now discern what’s nuclear, what simply oil or pre- digital? Ladders, elongated hopes, quiet streets & busy boulevards. With disregard for the French. Speak slowly. Totally super is this power struggle between my own two hands. We drive coast to coast, strung out,…

Pale-faced, never in control: remember to cry; it’s a buzz. We live, for then we die – or did i hear that in some song? Pillion, side-saddle, tempt the verge: a highway’s inside sources repeat the same old symbols. Leather, road, light. Death is short: only life lingers. Maps of Pueblo design evoke grander gestures,…

Love thaws before freezing over, setting twice as thick across this film of a wearied stare. Following the bridges back: a rusted green lantern points into the air, grasped by hands like the dollar bills that donít exist – not since the amnesty. Cease-fire tensionís stress creates a frozen last option: the flat bed journey…