poems 2

big blonde

getting out of
the squad car
that night
hands cuffed
behind me
wishing that
I was standing
on a corner
under neon
far from here
that the world
would go fuck
itself and die
that the police
woman with
the big ass was
a hooker and
the cuffs and
the outfit were
just a game we
were playing
but then she
wouldn't have
put 'em on so
tight.



small paradise

grass
and red brick
surreal
afternoon light
of Ohio autumn
the point is just to
be
like the
white clouds
and the sparrows
and sometimes
the only sound
is a girl’s
rollerskates
on the pavement.
Kabul

memories
of gone empires
in the opiate
dreams
of fakirs and sages

gone religions
are mountain flowers
while the faiths
of Abraham
wait to join them

the only constant
is the rape
of the people
and the blood-red
poppies at the doors
of the angels.



Jerusalem is your holy land, not mine

I’m old enough to remember
when they were still putting out music
on cassettes
I’m even old enough to remember vinyl
and Dawn Wells in Gilligan’s Island reruns
back then
there was hope in the world
at least for most people
before America’s endless wars
and global economic crises
now I’ve given up trying
just lie on the couch all day
while the spiders wrap their victims
in the corners
I’ve given up on sunsets and rainbows
and basic human decency
just waiting for the monster
with the body of a lion
the head of a rat
and darkness pouring from its eyes.



snake

my hatred
like a black rose
twisted round my heart

my insanity
like barbed wire
tearing at my brain

I’ve got crooked legs

I’ve got $20 in my wallet
and my driver's license

I’ve got 33 years
smeared like shit on
a blank page

I’ve got a photo
of a pair of boobs
someone emailed me

no face, no name

I wonder who the fuck she is?



abstract art and the defeat of socialism

old men walking down the street
walking towards death

lost in a country not my own
I'm walking towards something myself
but I’m not sure what it is

it ain't right to be led around
like a dog on a leash
(I should be so lucky)

the blackbirds cry
as the sun dances on cold white air
there's people walking down the street
in Russia
talking in Russian
(it seems unbelievable)

as the blackbirds tear their guts out
there's dark matter
swimming through my head

and for a moment
I can forget.



lost

the stars are
drunk
and this moth
circling
the room
is even more
lost
than I am.
my family came
to America
when I was 3.
before that
I had a country
to call home
but then
Communism
fell and that
country is gone
now
forever.
it starts to rain
outside as
the moth
tells me about
fate
and things
lost and
left behind.



the 4th Reich

the whole world
sending troops
to help the Americans
fight their dirty war
in Afghanistan
where fat American
soldiers kill pregnant
women, pull children
out of their beds
and shoot them
the West European
cocksuckers are there
the East European
cocksuckers are there
and when the American military
finally leaves Afghanistan
the same way they left Vietnam—
with their tails
between their legs—
Glenn Beck and the
rest of the insane
idiot neo-Nazi
White Right are gonna
impose fascism
and all the cocksuckers
in Europe will be on
their knees
blowing the trumpets
for the empire.



fireworks

my co-workers at the supermarket
didn’t seem to realize
they were being exploited
they were always cheery
always showed up on time
I often said to myself
don’t they get it?
there was one woman who worked there
40 hrs. a week and 35 hrs. a week
at another place
when did she sleep?
maybe they all knew the truth
but kept those smiles on their faces
in spite of everything
(maybe I’m giving them too much credit)
I was always late for work
always clocked out early
wasn’t interested in promotion—
the managers worked 60 hrs. a week
every 4th of July they gave each of us
a small American flag
I told someone
they can keep their fucking flags
and pay us more money.



the Arthur Bremer poem

a young man
sitting up in
bed all night
naked staring
at his penis

scrawling page
after page of
endless insane
ramblings
in his notebook

trying to decide
whether to shoot
himself or the
UPS guy or the
mayor

listening to the
same album
over and over
after shaving
his head

after mailing out
pages ripped
from porn mags
mailing them
to people he
doesn’t know

feeling
insignificant
as a hanger
in the closet

unknown
to the world

but then he
became known

and he just got
let out of prison--

hey, Arthur,
was it worth it?


tell me about it

she said

whatever happened
to Mazzy Star?
they were damn good

as the air filled
with smoke.

I said

if those cigarettes
don’t kill you
you’ll kill
me.

she said

don’t be such a
wimp. you even got
the face of a wimp.

I said

would it help
if I grew a beard?

she said

no.




devil

the newspapers don't care

the fat woman
with a face like a prison
don't care. you might
as well lie in bed all day
and talk to the walls

or hang yourself from
a tree like that
pusher that Kurt Cobain
saw one day.

you might as well
stagger drunk across
the street and get hit by
a car unless you find

something to keep you
alive, to keep you going:
try hatred.




rock and roll motel

Keith Richards
offers
Jimi Hendrix
a line of coke

Mick Jagger
and Bob Dylan
are tripping
on acid in
the bathroom

Jim Morrison
soaks in the
tub singing
this is the end

and veterans
of foreign wars
flashback while
sodomizing
underage girls.

there’s a sign
on the front
door that says

WHITES ONLY

but they made
an exception
for Jimi.



hoodlum in the night

I was out wandering the summer night at 2 AM
it was wet and warm
under the lights of the strip mall empty of people
I saw a liquor store
and decided I wanted to get drunk
when I looked around
I found a large stone about the size
of a soccer ball

I thought what luck! ...

do you know how strong reinforced glass is?

I threw the stone at that storefront window
again and again
but each time it just smacked right off
hitting the startled pavement with a loud crack

so I went back to wandering the streets
with the eyes of on-coming cars
staring at me.



white horses

I throw a bit of rainbow in the air
for the lost children of the streets
for lost children in slums everywhere
for lost children
in god-awful families that never shoulda been
for Che and the Zapatistas
for Baader-Meinhof and June 2nd
for Joe Hill
for people who think that vulgar stories
are poetry
for the lost generations of East Europeans
since the Fall
for everyone who ever tried to become
an artist and failed
and all that's left
is the arms of the angels
for everyone whose dreams
are all rainbows and white horses:
remember all of them in your prayers to the Gods.



funny little beard

I see a red red sun
setting over the roofs here in this
shit little town
in shit Ohio
while the Taliban fight
to liberate their country ...
a red, red sunset
like the ones the Buddha
musta seen
while he sat under
the Bodhi Tree and came up
with his philosophy of
ahimsa ...
yes, the idea of
non-violence is truly
beautiful and
profound
but America has shown people
again and again
what it does
to non-violents ...
I once saw a photo
of a white American soldier
with his legs blown off
and if some white guys
made money
by getting black men
to kill Asian men
over in Vietnam
it sure as hell wasn’t that
white guy
but who really cares
about him?
yeah, that little guy
with the funny little beard
he really tore yr guts
out,
didn’t he?



X

waiting outside the court building
the pigeons marching up and down
like Nazis
I figured the judge would give me
a small fine
he gave me that and a year’s probation
I went straight from the courtroom
to my probation officer across the hall
she was a redhead with
big tits under a white sweater
a big ass in the back of her jeans
talked like a Southerner
told me to get a job
and come back same time
next month

walking home
the sun was low in the afternoon sky
the spiders were sucking
the guts out of flies
and I was one of those
goddam flies
hollowed-out, thrown away—
angry at the sun, the spiders
at everything and everyone

but there was nothing I could do.