home

Old Hat and New Steel
disclaimer
contact.

The document, when printed, contains 252 A4 pages. Refer to the disclaimer for copyrigh issues. The original lay-out consists of 404 pages.

©Argo Spier.
ISDN - 2003-09-06 and upon request.
All rights are reserved. This publication may not be reproduced, stored in a retrieval system, or transmitted, in any form or by any means, electronic, mechanical, photocopying, recording or otherwise, without the prior permission of the publisher.

Contents

glands - 7
bogy road - 28
pas paspartout - 67
4 apples - 59
5 haiku modes - 73
paulan's log - 67
zinzli's log - 85
douche and addition - 95
machines of art - 111
red shoes - 117
new steel – 125
opera lodge cafe - 131

blurbs - 239

[Total number of pages = 352]

glands

1. I went shopping and this is what I bought

Reiki
Ayurveda
Tao
Tae Bo Billy
Chelatic Therapy
Massage Therapy
Spiritual Healing
Prana Healing
Faith Healing
Uri Geller
Apelazijn
Healing via the ndt-concept
Himalaya Qi Gong
Magnetisim
Vitality Healing
Antroposopfy
Intuitive Healing
Iridologie
Mensendiek
Creative Healing
I Ching
Quantum Healing
Acupunctuur
Acumassage
Jomanda
Iriscopie
Gems
Bromnem of Light. And I bought the ugly middle sized ones of it as well.

2. Impossible Time

'Time passes quickly, doesn't it?'
'Yes? … How did you get to that?'
'There's this song in my head … music! Time and music they seem to have something in common'.
'Music and time? How? What do you mean?'
'If time were to be music… Every second a note…'
'That's a nice idea! Where did you get it from?'
'I just thought about it … and when time passes quickly all the songs in the world would sound like duck quacks. Do you remember those old grammaphones and the various speeds in records? 33.3's and 78's? You play a 33.3 Lp at 78 singles' speed and you get Donald Duck. Quack-Quack!'
'Fuck man, you got weird ideas! What time is it?'
'Quack past Quack, isn't it?'

3. I went shopping again

Something in me was spurring me on. I just had to make hay while I was out I thought. So I slipped out from the outside as well and went straight into an art gallery nobody knew about. It was the Christiane Stukenbrock & Barbara Töpper Art gallery at the Könemann Verlagsgeschellschaft mBH in Hong Kong and there I bought a 1000 Masterpieces! All dated from the thirteenth century up wards till the nineteenth century.
'Oh, you wouldn't believe what I bought!' I said to Doctor Mädle when I at last got hold of him where he sat across me at the consulting desk.
And I started naming the pieces.

'2 from Niocolo dell' Abbate
2 from Willem van Aelst
1 from Pieter Aertsen
2 from Francesco Albani
2 from Alessandro Allori
3. from Alessandro Allori's son, Cristofano Allori
7 from Albrecht Altdorfer
2 from Christoph Amberger
5 from Andrea del Castagno
6 from Andrea del Sarto
2 from Sofonisba Anguissola
1 from Cornelis Anthonisz
4 from Antonello da Messina
4 from Giuseppe Arcimboldo
1 from Hendrick van Avercamp
1 Architectural Encyclopedic from Alberti Leon Battista
1 from Dirck van Baburen
2 from Giovanni Battista Baciccio
1 from Ludolf Backhuysen
1 from Alessio Baldovinetti
6 from Hans Baldung
1 from Jacopo de' Barbari
1 from Barnaba da Modena
4 from Frederico Barocci
4 from Evaristo Baschenis
4 from Jacopo Bassano
4 from Pompeo Girolamo Batoni
2 from Lubin Baugin
4 from Domenico Beccafumi
3 from Gentile Bellini
8 from Gentile's younger brother Giovanni Bellini
4 from Bernado Belloto
1 from Marie-Guilhelmine
1 from Bonaventura Berlinghieri
1 from Batolomé Bermejo
3 from Pedro Berruguete
2 from Abraham Hendricksz van Beyeren
1 from Jacques Blanchard
2 from Karl Eduard Ferdinand Blechen
3 from Louis-Léopold Boilly
1 from Veronese Bonifazio
1 from Richard Parkes Bonington
3 from Paris Bordone
12 from Hiëronymos Bosch
10 from Sandro Botticelli
4 from Francois Boucher
8 from Dierick d.O. Bouts
1 from Bramante
1 from Bartolomeo Suardi who had signed it as Bramantino
1 from Jörg d. O. Breu
3 from Paul Bril
3 from Melchior Broederlam
8 from Agnolo Bronzino
2 from Adriaen Brouwer
4 from Jan d. O. Bruegel
11 from Pieter d.O. Bruegel
and pffffftttt to the names of the rest…!'

'That should teach Frank Williams a lesson, don't you think?' I asked him.
'Of course it will, but please don't tell Dorothy. She might get the impression that you spent all that money just to get even with Frank Williams … which was of course not the case, I presume! But come again! Which paintings you say you bought?'

4. Dialectical Imagination

Roles
Procedure
Clues
Expression
Differentiation
Affirmation
Integration
Impasse
Resistance
Patterns
Scripts
Phenomenal orientation
Self-actualisation

5. Environment, Ego, Hunger and Aggression: A Revision of Freud's Theory and Method

Perls
Vernon
Van De Riet
Korb
John
Jeffrey
Gorrell
Hefferline
Hoodman
Polster
Zinker
Simkin
A technique is a freeze-framing of what at its conception was a creative figural leap in a difficult situation

Human organisation
Philosophical sub-strata
Neoanalytical theory
Phenomenology
Existential thought
Semantics
Scrutiny

In passing from intuition to analysis - the process of justifying subjective knowing or feeling states - we must confront existing bodies of evidence to determine if our theory conforms to scientific evidence and known facts

6. I didn't go straight to bed

I stood in front of the mirror.
I look at my face.
I saw all the various parts of it:

Musculus frontalis
Musculus temporalis
Musculus oculi
Musculus zygomaticus
Levator labli superior et alae nasi
Levator labli superiores
Depressor alae nasi
Orbicularis oris
Depressor anguli oris
Depressor labii inferiores

And I noticed that my face was a man's face. I was relieved. I wasn't the woman I thought I was I thought. And what's more, I discovered something else about myself that I didn't know was of me. Etc. And it was from then on that things started to happen to me, see? Such things that nobody, just plain no body would have believed … of me. Etc.

7. Prescription

Whether its opium straight
Or morphine derived
Or the imp: heroine educed

With naloxone
Or nalorphine
You can draw the line
- Here and now -
.
Between the strife and the initiate

8. Stadia

Pre-ignition
Doubt-ignition
Decision-ignition
Action-ignition
Determination-ignition

Plus sic and start again

Psychogenetic elements

Dipsomaniac terror.
- The road next to the road to Hell is also the road to Hell -
Diagnostic continuum blue printed.
From the Diagnostic and statistical manual of mental disorders
- Fourth edition -

The frame of mind, its journey into the unknown.
The track downward, schizophrenic behaviour.
The things you carry.
The small things.
The systemic complexes.
The syndrome.

9. Double diagnosis

Safe environment
Kicking off
Medication
Support
Structure
Diagnosis
Motivation promotion

- It rhymes -

Information
Education
Nutrition
Harm reduction
Addiction cure
Proficiency training
Prevention training

- It rhymes but it rhymes in a different way -

Inception
Recently a life afresh

10. Man and Woman

Orthosympathic! Look at the force!
Parasympathic! Look at your stomach!
Equilibrium is a woman
Homeostasis is a man
The taille line is the greens that draw a divorce.
'Look! I do what I can! Don't push me!'

11. Comorbidity

Catatonic disorder
Delirium
Detention
Lack of attention
Withdrawal
Symptom
Cognitive disorder
Disruptive disorder
Amnesiac disorder
Behaviour disorder
Personality disorder
Neurotic disorder
Somatoform disorder
Mimicry
Dissociate disorder
Dependency
Tolerance
Not hungry
Impulse disorder
Antisocial disorder

12. Evasive

Pleasure
Deficit
Schizoid
Depressive
Interpersonally
Imbalance
Ancillary
Theatrical
Narcotic
Antisocial
Intro
Psychically
Conflicted
Sadistic
Masochistic
Negativistic
Straitjacket
Structurally
Defective
Borderline
Schizotypical
Paranoid
Issues.
Spaces.
Intricate organs.
Eyes.
Ears.
DNA double helixes.
Omega pointe…

13. Psycho-organic syndrome

Lack of love
Lack of sexual fulfilment
Lack of sexual harassment
Lack of sexual pleasure
Dependency
Orgasmic morbid life

Endocrine Glands in the Dutch Language

A poem for those whose glands were taken away from them because they were strangers in a foreign land and didn't speak the language of those whom had bigger glands

Penisklier
Hypofyse
Schildklier
Thymusklier
Bijnier
Zalfleesklier
Eierstokken en testikels
Eierstokken
Testikels

When you notice that you don't have glands
and you notice you are not your whole old self
because you don't have glands
that's when you notice that you are suffering

Then go out
and steal your lost glands
you beg for them back
you buy them back
you borrow them and don't let them
be taken away from you again

Even lie for them

But as far as anybody else is concerned
don't go out
don't steal
don't beg
don't buy
don't - as in the second verse -
borrow yourself - use this verse -

And never lie to yourself

Oh you Strangers
- take it from me Adler-the-man -
there is a lot of suffering when
you don't have your glands!

Oh you Strangers
- take it from me -
never let they come
for your glands again

Stay with your glands man!

14. Empty Stomach

Hypnotica
Anxiolytica
Damp ruhe
Immobilising
- Alcohol, drugs and medication -
Lysergreen acid diethylamide
Mescaline
Psylocibine
Hamine
Harmaline
Ibogaïne
Ecstasy
Xtc mdma
Phencyclidine
Hallucination
- Alcohol, drugs and medication -
Tetrahydrocannabinol
- Alcohol, drugs and medication -
Snuff stuff stuffed
- Alcohol, drugs and medication -
Benzene
Khat
Peyote
Cavacava
Betil

- Alcohol, drugs and medication -
Herbol alkaloid
Psylocibine

It is popular man

Obstipation
Cramps in the entrails
Blue gut
Temperature regulation
Endocrine effects
Corticosteroïds
Cat eyes
Pinholes
No sex
No relationships
Fear
Unrest
Coldness
Farting
Vomiting
Diarrhoea
Sunken face
Running nose
Yawning
Muscle ache
Cramps
Blood pressure
Heartbeat
Cold turkey
Being touchy
Depression
Boredom
Tiredness
Tiredness of live
Emptiness

15. Is he a Doctor?

He can't walk
She can't walk
It can't walk
The eye is wrong
The pace is wrong
He doesn't know where he is
She doesn't know where she is
It doesn't know where it is
He doesn't know where she is
She doesn't know where he is
It doesn't know where he is
He doesn't know where it is
She doesn't know where he is
It doesn't know where she is
The fever is high
The vitamin B is low
Alcoholencefalopathy
Papil-oedeem

Does Wernicke know where he is?
Does Wernicke know where she is?
Does Wernicke know where it is?
Is he a Doctor?

Does Korsakov know where he is?
Does Korsakov know where she is?
Does Korsakov know where it is?
Is he a Doctor?

16. Paradoxical theory of Change

Primary ways
Prevention
Polar opposites
µ
Homeostasis
Eschew
Rationalisation
Zeon-arrow

Mental stability

Homeostasis
Schizophrenia
Repressed habitual bodily mechanisms
Somatic worlds
Penis theft
Is she a Dr?
Biting vaginas
Is he a Dr?
Investment of energy
Ongoing actualisation
Is it a Dr?
Incomplete experiences in love
The sequences of being
Sanity in general
Insanity in particular

17. Bye bye Benzodiazepine

Epilepsy
Hypothermia
Tension
Insomnia
Nightmares
Irritation
Headache
Put out the light

18. To Dorothy from t'Albert Eugene

La Vergine
La Gabbia
La Sedia Inquisitoria
La Ghigliottina
La Garrotta
La Pera orale
La Spaccaginocchi
La Sedia Eletttrica
La Schiacciatesta

'Nice poem!' she said when I gave it to her 'Just a pity I don't understand Italian!'
After her remark about To Dorothy from t'Albert Eugene I decided to messenger someone else. I send poetry of my own this time. I had to work write through the night to complete it and I used the dustcover of my Gestalt Therapy and Personality Disorder to write it on. I wrote the poems across the schematic drawings on the frontcover and crossed out the sub-title Homeostasis and well-being-in-relations. But then I discovered that there was a story in the poem. Inside the story there was a riddle. Of course I didn't mention that to be! I am no fool. Most people have it difficult enough to read poetry as poetry. Why shall I therefore burden anyone with the deeper lieing issues of riddles and stories?

19. But there were other things as well

Issues.
Spaces.
Intricate organs.
Eyes.
Ears.
DNA double helixes.
Omega pointe…

And the poem was ok. And I wrote another one. One that I made up while I was thinking about it. Sure and Sec = Signature Evénement Contexte! But then I discovered that I was thinking about it that

Oh, Derrida!

My poem was a really a copy of Rousseau's Socratic Aemilian myths and the issue of plagiate worried me.

20. Environment, Ego, Hunger and Aggression: A Revision of Freud's Theory and Method

Perls
Vernon
Van De Riet
Korb
John
Jeffrey
Gorrell
Hefferline
Hoodman
Polster
Zinker
Simkin

A technique is a freeze-framing of what at its conception was a creative figural leap in a difficult situation

Human organisation
Philosophical sub-strata
Neoanalytical theory
Phenomenology
Existential thought
Semantics
Scrutiny

'Yes?'
'Yes, wonder…!'
'Pathways to Internalisation?'
'Yes, but when does overt behaviour change the Self-concept?'
'How the pfutting should I know! She did play table tennis! I am sure of that!'
And I wondered whether he had noticed that I have plagiated myself while I was talking to him. Oh, Doctor Mädler, I had written Environment, Ego, Hunger and Aggression: A Revision of Freud's Theory and Method twice!

21. Dialectical Imagination I

A small piece of paper.
It was half torn.
I took it and tore it in two too.
The one half was I
The other half was Caroline's blood pulsating
Inside me.
The third half was me playing with it.

'Third half?'

22. Dialectical Imagination II

Roles
Procedure
Clues
Expression
Differentiation
Affirmation
Integration
Impasse
Resistance
Patterns
Scripts
Phenomenal orientation
Self-actualisation

23. And and again

Letters, rapport's, evaluations, dances and books!
Oh, occurrences and off-time self-analysis.
And oh, letters, rapport's, evaluations, dances, books, etc. again.

And and again.

'Oh Small Cissy, my Free Card. Where did I hide it?'
'Oh Mony, my Free Card. Where have I mislaid it?'
'Oh Scandinavian Man, where is it?'
'Oh Danish Man, did I give it to you?'
'Oh Patricia, have I send it to you?'
'Oh Laplasse, did you take it?'
'Oh Professor Linde! Where is my free card?'
'Oh Loreena, goose pimples! Where are you hiding?'
'Oh David Maret, what is your code?'

Who said poems were sense making unites of language?

24. And I continued with piece number 66, woman's feet

'When I go for women's feet', I said, 'I take the Big Wall in China. First I start with Li Nei Ting=the lower Inner Court and then I go onto the Qian Hou Yin Zhu=the Hidden Pearl. Then the Yong Quan=the Giggling Well. Then the Shi Mian=the Insomnia. Then the Jing Gu=the Scull. Then the Jin Men=the Golden Gate. Then the Pu Can=the Master's Point. Then the Koun Lun=the Mountain of Tibet. Then the Tai Bai=the Highest Light. Then Ran Gu=the Sheltered Valley. Then the Shui Quan=the Well. Then the Tai Xi=the Lichtened Sea. Then Jie Xi=the Expansion Vat. Then the Chang Yang=the Yang Attack. Then the Pang Gu=the Valley at the side. Then the Tai Chong=the Highest Level of Attack and that is then that I take the last stepping stone before I enter their Nei Ting=the Absolutely Inner Court. They just love it. Their feet … and so do I, see?'
Cissy came round. I had impressed him and now she spoke out of her own.
'Yeeeeeeys? Yous really doos that?'
'Yes, that is what I do! It is also very relaxing and healthy. Foot Reflexolgy and such. It brings out their Yingies and Yangies…'

bogy road

'Oh, you wouldn't believe what I found in my past!' I cried out and I started to tell Dorothy and Dr. Mädle the complete and reworked version of Bogy Road with its endless generation of words, its Messe des morts, its driving home, its sitting pussy, its on unequal numbers, its at the station and its she wore a swimming suit.

You got to go back, go back for the healing …keep on dreaming
Van Morrison

1. Messe des Morts

I vow to dee my coun-te-ree we all sang
and stumbled down the road.
We sucked through the water
at the end of the road.
And I left for the station
to see what train leaves.
Who stays behind?
What buses?
What people?
And true as sulphur they were playing
over the intercom Hector Berlioz's Grande Messe des Morts.

2. Driving home with a sitting pussy on my lap

She wore a banner saying she was wild as wild as a sitting pussy who sits on a sports car's bonnet her leg pulled up showing a tight Aegean tanned skin on the inner side of her thigh oh she was wearing the latest fashion she was a pin-up frozen forever transparent and dead she stared at me her eyes diamond sparked flames consuming mine a cold hot rainy summer had dawned like a day a Saturday.

On Unequal Numbers

This truck's pulling skew 's no good driving it stick out your dice 'n check the back of the road your side I stuck out my head I checked the back of the road my side rear wheel's gone I told you we're going astray moving on unequal numbers Dick stopped the truck and said go get the wheel how can I get the wheel? I defended its too heavy it lies maybe back a mile its bucked go get the wheel I go fetched the wheel its bucked up man he said we can't use such a wheel why did you fetched a bucked up wheel? didn't you see it was bucked up? buck it over the cliff I bucked the wheel over the cliff let's go man seven's good 's eight he was in a hurry.

You know what? Dick claimed there's water under these horseshoe hills big lakes Harry told Tom and Tom told me he said before they made this vapid place here there was only this water all over all around you see alluvial water and imagining those pre-historic times there were a lot of stuff laying rotting in it no one picked it up and nobody cared it was pre-historic times you see lazy buggers ruled the waves then uneducated inspectors and such and there were crocodiles in those waters it was a slimy business there were big crocs in the water very large ones you put your foot in the water they bite it off without delay see? those crocs ate anything really and you should watch out for them things even now when it rains they come up again oh sure those crocs come up they come chew off your balls and slowly his mind trailed away and after some time he said ash what does stupid Harry know?

Let's stop here there's a spot on the hill let's watch the sky over this horseshoe valley take a break 'n have some coffee we stopped got out wham first the front tyre his side of the truck exploded then the rear tyre my side disintegrated hell did you see that? lucking cannonballs and all that for a cup of pigs cold coffee.

In the middle of flat plains where there the flat roads easy country along side the roads' faces oh this was nice cruising but then comma the junction flying past catching out of the corner an eye Dick saw a woman hitching she was standing alone waving her short hair showing a leg mini hot pants bosom no luggage did you see that? did you see that woman stop the truck stop the farting truck quick stop it stop man stop stop the truck he shouted I slammed the brakes the left side break failed the right side wheel locked we went off the road straight into farmers' land through the barbed wire into civilised planted mealies he jumped ran from the truck the girl was gone he looked at the spot where she stood he looked under the culvert he looked under a bush he panted did you see that did you see that? shot she's gone did you see that? how can a woman disappear like that? shoe like in thin air? he looked at me why you flunked off the road like that? look at the truck look at the screwed up mealies now who's gone buy mash potato mealies like that?

Eighty four and 16 second-class people in first-class 4 nuts on the gearbox I can't drive like this scratching bum all the time Dick said the rear axle gave way Holy Water see what you've done the axle’s gone shit the passengers we had gone put in too many how are you gone explain that? What? the second-class people in the first-class? let's hide 'em too many to hide no man nobody's gone fall for hiding its your fault you stuffed up 104 how are you gone hide 104? in the jungle? how are you gone explain the dockets? we screwed up man remember? 104 + 4 cases of nutty people in the cab on the gearbox what have we done? man what have we done? how're we gone work it out? take away the nuttiness that leaves us with 99 + 1 let's see 99-60 normal people + 1 is 40 uh-huh? that's too difficult to reckon let's say there were 80 in the bus the standard gone norm is 60 you know? the law prescribes only 60 let's say we had 60 + a small unofficial 20 that's 80 isn't it? but we? that's 19 in first-class + 1 + I thought you said there were 16 second-class people in first class 16 in the front cabin where'd the extra 4 came from? doesn't matter count the kitty! short? our personal kitty box? short too? we're in trouble man you let in too many people where did they all come from? people materialise in thin air where'd they come from? Holy Water people start to come out the moment you start counting 'em where'd that extra 4 came from? we had 83 in the back + 1 + 16 second-class in first-class + the nuttiness on the gearbox didn't we tell them that we were full? didn't we tell them to get off we did there were too many people we told them they didn't want to get off did they? too many people you can't count 'em all can you?

Oh wonderful things happen on these buses all of them are problems let's keep it at say 16 let's funk out the extra 4 - 1 that's thirteen there was no room in second-class for everybody lets say everybody took sick we had to rush 'em to the hospital that'll explain it what do you say? we say we will fix the bogy later there's no hospital out this way? oh I'm not a facing doctor you know how am I supposed to know which facing way a hospital's suppose to be? oh you're a troublemaker its you you spell trouble man big trouble bogy trouble you with your fancy idea of fixing bogies where? have you ever heard of something more dumb?

Fixing bogies on a Saturday when nobody's around how can a person work? in circumstances like these? there's nobody to crack a joke with there's fickle to do there's just you and me and the stupid bogy its those passengers' fault you know those nuttiness on the gearbox there were too many no nut's gone sit on my gears again they're home for the weekend and dry doing things to their wives and we've got to fix their shirts something's wrong with society can you imagine how long ? it will take to fix this mother of a bogy? come Sunday we'll be here there night and day no church no nothing just you and me and the Bogy-Fix-It-Yourself-Bogy.

This nut's rusted suck give me a crowbar I'm gone take off it's head its your fault 'cause you keep on pissing on the wheels nuts rust from piss you know? where's my bar how must I know where the bar is? Harry-Double scaled the bar or Tom threw it away look in Tom's kit who had done it? they steal in this garage man you won't believe it how they steal you put your dick there right there on that bench there next to that bin of grease there they'll steal it they'll just take it home they go do some illicit to your neighbour's wife they say its you you're in deep trouble they Fuqua it away your cock when they're done with it you're in more trouble you don't have a dick when you need one what do they care?

Tom's kit's locked tight don't give me that open it use a crowbar how can I crack the kit I'm looking for a bar remember? I don't have a bar to crack it the bar must be locked safe in the kit use the torch just get me the fucking bar man I'm not waiting the whole day don't use the torch on Tom's box he didn't steal the bar oh yes Tom stole it oh yes he stole my bar why? why are you so funny face Mister Bogy Man? you have a stupid face and all of the time you are soft in the head? fixing bogies on a Saturday? what kind of idea's that? he got out from under the truck took the torch cut Tom's tool kit in 1/2 took out a bar see? what's this? what's this sign on this bar? what's it say? it says V that's my sign he stole my bar then he got back underneath the truck took off the head of the rusted nut thinking out loud Fancy-Facing-Idea-Fixing-Bogies on a Saturday.

How could Harry have done such a mean thing? Cutting Tom's kit in half with a blow torch? hey Harry your mother-in-law's panties you still smell 'em before you eat your tuck at night?

Tuesday afternoon nobody believed us they say you stole a crowbar from Tom kit and that's why Tom booked off why he just vanished mid-Monday took sick they say you secretly fix bogies on Saturdays are you fixing bogies on Saturdays Bogy? what bogies? you haven't had any loading trouble? had you? Trouble explaining troubles? docket troubles? now had you Bogy? I wouldn't think you would have now would I? why's Harry-Double-Funk so kissed off? its very wrong to screw up with dockets in general leave alone toolkits from other people especially Tom's.
I never had so much trouble with anyone before not with anyone called Bogy before you know the Grease man had me pumping my own grease this morning my own grease imagine Bogy was it you who'd gone tell everybody that I Dick-the-Vicar steal crowbars on Saturdays you know that's very mean of you.

I had to service Chief Monty's bus + throw in shifts for both Harry and Tom make it write Monty had reckoned do this do that while it was you who had screwed up with the dockets not me you can't load sweet you screwed up good honest Daimler bogies relations etceteras I am going out of my mucking sucking mind man I cannot spend another day in this stupid garage fixing a bogy not shoe fixing rotten bogies using stolen crowbars Shamrock say how come you eat so many bananas? you look like a banana look at you you are facing yellow inside yellow like a person from another race say again how come you eat so many eggs? you act like an egg you're yellow in your belly + soft in the head and you fart like a Caucasian.

Harry had started acting funny he had another fine passing over a double white line he was always a troublemaker nobody wants a friend like that you know he crossed over with all fours that's bad that's very bad + he drives too fast most of the time Harry didn't steal the bar somebody else tucked it under his bench it laid there for weeks nobody needed it.

All of a sudden everybody started fixing bogies at all times in all illegal hours everybody needed crowbars Harry's OK don't be too hard on him he needs another kit and tools we steal it for him what'd you say? OK? his traffic ticket is so heavy he's gone need 4 twenty tonners to carry it over to the courthouse we steal him a new box as well man he can have the bloody bar with the V we must help Harry run him as many extra shifts for overtime he needs 'em its not his fault that he drives so fast and Fuqua over white lines ever so often always at the wrong times when cops are hanging out time always hanging out arse at the wrong time although he should know by now to watch out its not his fault however and everybody should cut this crowbar thing shit those panties shit mind you the panties aren't doing him any good anyway but crossing a double white line is a ducking dangerous thing to do.

Saturday Harry drove over a cliff he went over a white line again and this time just kept on going I saw his wife this morning she's broken and cried like a small child he didn't even take his tuck box with him when he left home she said Dick was as white as a sheet what's that you say Bogy? Harry's my best mate he never stole a crowbar in his life everybody knows that go collect Bogy you're good at that go collect for Harry's wife you can have my next pay cheque as well and tell everybody to stop the crowbar row shut for ever Harry's dead I don't want to hear another thing no damn other about fucking bars ever again Harry was the best driver in this whole cursed dump Harry was my best friend everybody knows that he never stole a single bar.

Who's that new individual think he is? coming in here new work on Harry's bench like that? as if he was born on it? has he no respect for people Harry is dead and see how this idiot walks he walks like an ape look at his hair its as black as rut don't trust him he looks like an ordinary thief and a troublemaker farted together I mean who walks like that? hey Darkey! this wheel's stuck tight come give it a push they use wonder fix here to glue wheels together I can't get it off ram out your own wheel and my name's not Darkey the new guy answered with a raw tone did you hear that Bogy? Darkey-The-Ape-Man is uptight today then a crowbar flew through the air landed with a clang right in front of Dick hey hey cool it you'll bend these bars nobody can use bended bars Bogy that uncle's not human he's from hell he is a bad sign he is from a cuckooing place from elsewhere where everybody in his home town walks with something stuck up his Aries.
Four o'clock in the morning Chief Monty knocked on my window-pane get up Bogy you got to coo for Northrop Johnny Boy doesn't want to take his shift why must I go? I am coo to Dick I always go with Dick you got to go you're new here Darkey's newer than me see you're both new OK I see I'll go.
Hey Bogy you are riding with the Dark One hey are you OK? I'm glad to be rid of you you're just a troublemaker nobody can trust you you change drivers too much too often that's a bad sign you fix bogies on Saturdays Bogy Man you are a bogus you always choose the wrong side of the road that's a bad sign Mister Bogy Road.

(It was a heavy day today I wrote in my diary I am tired lord I am tired I have been writing since this morning 4 o'clock four Dick-stories and some Sudanian Negro-poems yet I am still only coo with the newest of drivers I am still with the Dark-Man-Ape-Northropf his real name was Alfred Northopf he is from über-German stock originally from Austria he told everybody his wife comes from up north out of the mountains she's a gypsy like Carmen they have a nice daughter of nineteen her name's Mary + her name is from the name Mary Magellan his wife's nice too and the last time they moved they came up here he got Harry's job because he has never crossed a single white line in his life never + but oh I'm tired Holy Water I am depressed am I to keep on writing about Alfred for ever? am I to go back to drive coo for Dick again? you're travelling with the wrong kind of people you're going nowhere and what's more? you don't know what to say to that? now do you? Alfred repeated Dick's words this morning he is not naïve and another thing I am only 1/2 way through Bogy Road - Poems of Innocence and Joy poetry as a mandala an archetypical 4 Julia set? it doesn't seem to work people will never understand the story will they read it? what about the Evil Eye and the Dogu masks? also and + what about my numinosum whom is wandering in and out of Bogy Road + the story doesn't seem to hold + and/or come together the epitome of the devouring androgynies vagina dentata poetry that eats you up the Muse! Wallpaper poetry? maybe its rubbish maybe its rich spoiled young Jung-Mister-Tetrakis-Jung who's driving the scroll Bunzli Jung? And not me? it doesn't seem to work at all there's nothing in the middle no house its horseshoe poetry its milk that has stiffened to butter).

Did you write that? Number 20? are you lazy or something ? 1/2 way through and you are already tired horse tired? the week man the week hasn't even started yet the week's just beginning that's shot shut to be tired you never get tired on this night and day run of the mill buses there are too many passengers waiting they got to go got to go man to the station he was talking like that and then it started to rain look at this sucking rain how we're gone get to the office now? why? why to the office I asked they wanted to put us on the Milk-and-Butter run droppings for beginners milk and butter I had my new red suede shoes on and it was raining look at your shoes they're getting wet look at the rain you shouldn't come work with shoes like that you can go no where with shoes like that Dick said Horseshoe man they're nice shoes come I help you get through this piss of a weather hop on my back I hopped on his back he carried me through the rising Holy Water.

Good morning Bogy Chief Monty said one fleeting day get the tab you are my coo today we're doing third-class I don't know why everything is so slow today how many passengers? eighty- 4 really I don't know why the people are so slow? we have eighty- 4 more waiting at 1/2 way House + sixty more is at 3/4 House all for the station why is everything so slow today say by the way + Alfred Northropf reckons harm is coming your way bogy harm too many passengers remember Harry? and all? a guy's got to make choices you know make up his mind choose with whom he's driving and all that not carry too many see? before its too late you know what I mean? Choose with care I looked at him has he spoken to Dick as well? He continued driving's like life once you're stuck with a bus you're stuck with it you know what I mean? but really I don't know much about these things and so on and another thing I'm not taking more than eighty-6 passengers the law says sixty and that's that man I don't screw with dockets I am chief why is this bus so slow? why today?

You saw that? Johnny’s crawling all over Ape Man look how he is cocooning there's something a thing goings on there a dying game under the bushes or something remember that girl in the culvert? Darkey even cleans up for him you can't trust him you can't trust anybody anymore these days Johnny’s all over Ape man + Ape man's got him under spell it's the man's daughter man I tell you the one with the watery eyes Mary you know she's taking away the pip-squeak's virginity its a bad bad bad sign.
Because of the bogy trouble in number 6 of Bogy Road + the talk at the office in number 21 Dick and I all of a sudden were put on freight run we were to move freight heavy bags and stuff and oh you got to keep flower separate from the milk cans for instance milk spill you know becomes butter too they blame it on you hey how come my milk's stiff? hey why you brought me dough 'stead of flower? hey there's milk missing? you guys're addicted to milk or what? you people drink milk or what? the milk spilled we didn't drink milk the dough's OK too it's already mixed you got to pay us extra and I can't use this 1/2 milk 1/2 butter sham you people drank my milk there's milk short man and it can go on like that for a long dripping time you're always late on your schedule I tell you the fright business is bad business.

Still dark yesterday heavy drink vomiting life oh I hate wheels wheels just keep on facing rolling face knows where to you take over the steer Dick said I took the steering wheel the sun was getting hotter the hum of the engine sang it was cosy + the road was long and the seat my side was comfortable nice he liked it his eyelids started to droop whaaaaaaw hey hey what's happening? why are you shouting like that? for? I burned my finger the fag didn't know I was smoking why? do you always? always muck up peace gimp me my wheel back demit your side is shot man its a dying man's side you are going to hell in this seat.

Cruising a nice cruise flat country no traffic all of a sudden flames licking licking over the bonnet the engine's on fire its your facing side again its the tyre its always your side you got to stop why stop? for a piece of flame the size of your dick? the engine's burning screw the engine its the tyre your side you are a troublemaker you muck up peace I never had so much hassle with anyone ever before never not even with stupid Harry-Double-White-Linear going to stop or what? screw stopping you stop man you stop you'll have the whole truck in flames suck the truck come on stop your mascot's gone catch fire he stopped tyres howling the flame died by itself why? why did you make me stop? you broke my cruise Fancy-Ideas-Fixity-Yourself-Bogy you broke my cruise + if its not the axle your side its a facing flame I told you you are a hell bound bastard you broke my cruise if you break my cruise again I'll stuck this fat fuck of a truck on your head I saved your mascot for you didn't I? yes let's go and stuff my mascot as well for a change.

Say Bogy what are you doing on this job anyway? It was a small Saturday I'm saving what do you want to do that for? you can't use money you're too young for that I'm going to study what? are you stupid or something? study? study is a lot of horseshoe if a person studies it is bad for him nobody's ever listened to anyone who had studied you end up having to bum for a conversation you have no friends you have nothing even the Grease Man will funk you around do you want to have friends? or what? you don't want to become like a person without references? no friends do you? now would do you? look at Ape Man he's got no friends you saw what he did with that crowbar? you don't want to become like that now do would you? nobody drives with persons like that what are you going to study? fixing bogies and screwing up dockets or what? no theology and the purpose of life Jesus you're mad what the hell's that? its about deliverance how to live what to do + carrying other people's burdens helping people you know? that's shot nobody helps anybody nobody has ever helped me and you can't study about life life is shot life's a fart in close quarters life's a Fuqua up you ask anybody Monty will tell you Ape Man knows nothing Harry-Double-White-line's dead but he'd tell you that all the same Tom will tell you Grease Man will tell you stupid Johnny Johnny will tell you everybody will tell you that + everybody knows that and as far as people go there are only two kinds troublemakers and other persons the good ones the ones are good to drive with and the troublemakers troublemakers throw crowbars at innocent people you can leave that theology out of this where'd you get this theology idea from anyway? from the bible that's blasphemy the bible's for something else the bible is for a different purpose for signs + for different kind of things things that got nothing to do with this fancy thing theology you're gone go study look at the stories in it its got some other value man look at the way those guys in Jericho at that place at the Dead Sea side mucked up the troublemakers whom didn't want to come off the walls when they were told to do so by the good guys the good guys bucked down the whole damned town just to teach the troublemakers how to behave look at Samson say shall we put Samson onto Ape Man? he will teach that Darkey a lesson he won't forget Samson will teach him how to behave with crowbars etc and all + how to walk like a normal person guys like Ape Man are the worst kind of troublemakers you can get they grow hair right from their balls to their chin I like the bible but I am not so sure about this theology horseshoe you're talking about it sounds like a trouble making kind of thing and to waste all hard earned money on things you don't understand shot with all this fancy talk we've missed the turn off we got to go back man you and your shit with study.

Ten tanner 1/2 filled with mealy flower 1/2 with milk say Bogy you off load this bum truck I'm gone go for a leak there's a bar you're clever you go to college you can fix it alone you are a bogy man say there's some women in there I got to go gone go pigs man hey Dick hey those are French women you're going to get yourself into trouble they got eyes you'll have to use manum fica signs leave 'em come on leave 'em don't make a fool of yourself let us off load together what do you know Bogy? Mister Bogy Road? we give 'em a ride on the gear box I thought you said you're never going to let anyone ride on your gear box again? you want to throw in overtime fixing bogies again? don't get smart with me Bogy Blow they're good women I got to go go they're OK Collant de Descanso Tranparente Very Sheer Support Pantyhose I started off loading nobody to help me I'll probably have to sign the receipts myself too sweating off loading a priest came up to me 's a nice day he said you are a little mad at your coo-driver? Priest Man had funny clothes on he wore sandals just like all Catholics do who want to try to ecumenist protestants Augustine-Going-For-Women-Pope are you working to save money? yes how did you know? just guessing ever thought of changing your life? go to a college study theology? how did you know? how did I know what? are you thinking alone these lines? no I mean no I wasn't thinking along those lines no actually no no I don't really save money just a little maybe he looked at me and I knew he knew something about poetry too + he gave me a small silver chain with a small silver amulet dangling from it and on the token was a man carrying a child engraved I took it not to offend him but secretly I liked it very much I never had a silver chain before they're very valuable I could never have afforded one I hang it around my neck I liked it I'll write about it someday I thought and looked at him he looked at me as well + this time write through me as if he knew what was going to happen to me he knew about the Water and that I was destined for the station oh my god I thought.

Hey why are you so slow? you're not off loaded yet? those girls are stuck up man they're bad women whose that bum you were talking to? a priest? man you should watch out for priests they're troublemakers they screwed up church going nobody goes to church anymore + they give you lucking shut to wear around your neck and such then he got onto the truck and gave me a hand with the mealy flower and the 1/2 empty milk cans and said nothing more about what I thought he knew.

We came down with a stinking speed hitting the single lane bridge at eight-five k we had eighty-five soft soul passengers loaded from the other side of the bridge out of no where the blue a slow farmer came with a small jalopy he came crawling right up to us dead centre in the middle of the flying road we saw him when he saw us I felt the burnt burning burnt of hell burning into my silver amulet I felt the flesh on my chest I saw the farmers eyes they were white oh Santa Lucia protector of the eyes I mumbled then I saw the farmer take his jalopy right through the dilapidated rails write into the shallow water Holy-Water-Mother-Mary that was close was it a sign?
Don't eat those nuts from that Bhong tree nobody eats those nuts you'll lose your innocence then you'll start to walk like the Ape man with his balls hanging out all the time you don't get food at your house or what? if its not facing eggs or bananas its nuts you'll throw up look there're more than eighty-seven third-class passengers waiting and you fuck with nuts come on man the wheels must roll they're waiting at the station.

Hey Bogy how come you're so white? its those nuts man they're working in you like the Devil when he had said that I started puking all over the dashboard all over the gearbox and when my puke drawled down my chest + down over my silver chain he said nothing as on the day with Priest Man he didn't even joke about it.

We're behind schedule there's been a lot of trouble the milk's still always 1/2 the flour's still dough the people are still complaining about the bread the bakers bake they blame it on us they say we're always late they say we drink milk.

A big bus passed us and his hind part took the radiator off the cab starting at my side we went off the road I lost my chain and when the boiling water blew all over me I felt the calling calling the scathing blade deadly but gently in the close vicinity of my heart this was a sign I needed no other signs anymore I knew.

Back on the passenger run the milk had become sour hell everybody wants to go home no same time rush hour we got eighty loaded the law still says sixty but you know how it goes by now at 1/2 way House a man wanted to get in no man no we're full you see full we waved and drove off following day same guy give me a ride give me a ride no no there's no more room for you we've got eighty-six already the law says sixty we're chock 'n block same guy do you believe it third day throw him in Dick said eighty or eighty one ninety what the hell one more 's not gone kill us.
We're full lady full we're only allowed to carry sixty the law's very precise on that there's no room in here look all these people they're going home why? don't you come back tomorrow? we will reserve a seat for you we'll take you straight to the station man she wants to go don't Fuqua with her she's a lady give her a seat I rebelled OK you move over sit on the gearbox give her your seat I moved over she got in thanks she said.

Next day Tom and his coo were both drunk today they say its Sunday they don't drive a damn they're gone do the right thing they're gone go to church and that's that take Dick + Bogy they aren't doing anything at all today there are no bogies to fix they're done with the farmer's bogy that farmer who walked on the shallow water the other day carrying his jalopy all the way through the water they had said.

What a trip what a day firstly too many passengers all for the main station secondly the flat tyre thirdly the carburettor we'll never get there by tonight fourthly cold tea and no buns at 1/2 way House fifthly the woman on the bus with the boy he didn't want to get in + that he had just kept on looking at me staring sixthly the paper I didn't find to write this on + that I nearly missed Dick at 3/4 House when looking for it seventhly the five times we had to stop for passengers to go to the loo the wheels must roll man why are they so slow? eighthly the four times to pick up more people ninthly the three times we needed to check the bogies tenthly the both times to calm the boy eleventh the rain the rain the masses of water on the road we'll never make up schedule twelfth the big ten tanner pickup that was parked right behind the corner nose off the road loading platform sticking out a steel ramming blade pointing the number 4C 41.17 the boy his screams Holy Water Christopher we're going to crash save us I lost my glasses my left shoe we turned over I felt the tarmac kissing my face the weight of the bus then like an explosion it rung silent and it was quiet and dark the rain had stopped but Holy Water the water was rising everybody was gone only me and the boy we were the only ones he stood there but he didn't cry anymore only his big eyes were staring at me come here boy I said and picked him up I put him on my arm carrying him towards and through the water that engulfed us from all sides no harm will come to you I said I will take you to the station then faintly from the direction of the station the disconnected fragments of sounds came to us ringing over the intercom I could swore true as sulphur I recognized the words of Hector Berlioz's Grande Messe des Morts I distinctly heard De poenis Domine Domine libera eas de poenis inferni above the singing of school boys playing in water.

Pas partout

Content

boys’ song
lilac-blue bathing suit
chain and amulet
into his harem
ritual movements
peeping eye
in the distance
indecision
queen of the library
skin of men and women
hollowed essence
chris
the deed of a smeared face
twirling tongue
back up the rails
grandiloquent language
the libidinous spark
departure
from a Greek Island
initiation
bright orange bathing suit

1. boys’ song

I vow to dee my coun-te-ree we all sang

and staggered down the road
drunk and untamed
and pressed
there’s sludge and mire in the road

at the bottom of the day and where it
ends
and slurry is sieved from slosh
I broke away - je ne pas regret

arriving at the station
I was perplexed
to see what trains
what buses
what people
oh who left and who stayed behind

and disorientated in my ear
and by Bambino Juvante true as sulphur
softly over the intercom in the Entrance Hall
the firm opening bar of HECTOR BERLIOZ'S
Grande Messe des Mort

2. ghost driver

A Vestdijkian waiter from out of De Kelner
en de Levenden came to me
a revenant and phantom resurrected
from the obsolete

in the artificial lustre of the waning station
his solemn hand
a strange stretched out talon beckoning me
to touch into it

cautioning from the Arrival Board
hieroglyphic numbers clicking off
the when’s and where’s and comings
and goings of trains

and mingling with the grind
again loud and clear
the prelude and opening lilt of Hector Berlioz's
Grande Messe des Morts
while an empty train pulled in
with by god no driver in its driver's seat

3. lilac-blue bathing suit

A woman in a lilac-blue bathing suit
with pale ash hands waving
called out
are you a man or aren't you
are you the only one
are you the one for me
no I am a woman
and yes we are the only ones left
oh no we're not
oh it cannot be

from out of the innards
of the train and the Cimmerian
she exclaimed and with a wink
transforming herself into an Indian Salamander

and slithering and waggling
through the corridor
packing it on hands and knees she said
DI RUSH is my name
look at my tongue it is split
look at my bosom, it holds my heart

inside the cindering dregs of her eyes
charcoal waif was flickering
she was coming coming
for me
I eat prawns and rice with my bare hands
I pray bending down heaving
on my hands and knees

and flapping and falling
she dropped from the train
the scratches of her claws
left painful puffed-up patches
and pictographic scribbles
all over the floor
the lethal cement floor

4. chain and amulet

In the lightest of lingerie
she holds your fire
and on the pavement
her hair was painstakingly bourgeoisie
styled in present day Hades’ fashion
yet now playfully
she and eyed like a teenager
measuring me for a bait

tossing her head
till all golden locks loosen and fall
on her shoulders and breasts
she hides the silver chain and amulet
the talisman with the ominous image
of a man carrying a child

5. into his harem

Into his harem she fled
veiled with a shadow she came
to the include
but it was the burden of her vow
that weighed the lead upon her

and undonning it at night
she slowly faced her body
it befell her
but she realised
it was her other half
her guardian
that owned the law now
she wanted to run

grabbing her chance
she deduced her way
clearing it for the dawn
of her destiny
it was another she wanted
to enhance

and on smouldering hot cataclysmic
coals soon after
she scathed her febrile feet
traversing and ensuing
she ran and walked off
eloping straight
to the rhymester and with me

6. ritual movements

Her eyes were dark
a kind of desolate loneliness only sickened ebony
trees have and on African continents
her soul too
it was so much darker than mine

dancing
paying tribute late into nights
the spirits of connubiality rose
in her ritual movements and playful lust
taxed the means to polish her skin
and beat the drum
and her thighs her thighs shiver
and soar in her excite
and arouse

in the early mornings
with dew and vagrancy on her body
and the miasmic odour of waste evaporated
from her dream
she seeks in mud and decompose
at the sides of cessing ponds orchids
and the bits and pieces and the holes
in her scanty dress
the torn patches of peel indicate
where leather belts had beaten her

7. peeping eye

The slit in her dress
only to bare her purple torso
the display of titivates

but I could see when she moves
she shakes for me
and when she dances sweet
rancid smelling droplets of sweat
flick down from her neck
and fall on her shoulders

8. in the distance

I saw how the unimpeded tube of the train
ingested her in its yearn
how it sped away from her
its evil deed done
and in the distance its whistle
the bullet-red shot ricocheting

her expectations and hope
the delusion of tender endearments undone
it got misplaced between the rails
it was lost before gained
and then she screamed

the ache of departure
oh the lamb so violently slain
are you alive or are you dead
are you a man or are you feman
are you from the Netherlands
do you want to go to the mountains with me

9. indecision

In her incarceration she was susceptible
it seemed to her it was for the good
and good
yet also for good

it was so difficult for her to decide
whether she should stay
at the station
or to take the next train out

10. queen of the library

She lived in a space so neat and full of books
she was the queen of the Provincial Library, a librarian
but she saw herself as JOAN OF ARC
the everlasting fire
and though and through the years it took her
to make her review
she never understood the irony
and the sorrow of it all

In ever classifying moods
she shuffled herself onto bookracks
and in categories of mutates as she classifies herself
re-naming her name to BESS, the one with the long penis

but in the span of her later years, when she had grown
somnolent from her fate and disharmony
she started to live behind pairs of iron bars
and day and night and from behind the doors
of vaults rammed shut on her you can hear the pitches
of her hums, the litany
of her still unaccounted for numbers and her consecrated lists
the details of all her lost days
and my empty nights

11. skin of men and women

She lived in a cabin in the mountains
and at night in fireplaces all over the hills
she lit blazes, making light
in darkness

in the booming brightness
of it the skins of human beings turn amber
and become wholesome
and awakening their hands seek
and touch their own bodies
and those of others
and with oil from virgin pressings
and factors 8
they stroke and massage over sensuous Jung
young backs
limbs
stomachs
genitalia
legs
feet bridges
and varnished toes nails

when the nights’ long hauls
dim down at dawn and embers die out
everybody is revitalised
and the stench of Coppertone lingers in the air
like incense for the bereaved

12. hollowed essence

She came in wearing a sash
and smoking a cigarette
she arrived from an alien terra firma
her heart was pale and heavy
and from the long journey she took
she hung her shackles as from a rig
tentacles groping deep into her need

outlandishly and crooked she bogged down
taking on the role of a crow scraping high
over the rooftops of hurt
the dark inferno
that was ravaging her soul
in it all her days and deliverances
looked like far off cries crying
from far away

it was her estrangement
and the loneliness eating at her
that engulfed her
her fear that it was all over now
and there for all to see

13. Chris

His hips were fragile like women's hips
he listened to TINO ROSSI and his Hamburgers
and Hot Dogs stated the case
as I knew it would

By the sound of his breathing
- when he sees me -
I know when it was time for him
to wear his smart-red tight jeans
and blood matching woman's shoes

he was a transmuted messenger
and his numb acceptance of his role
as himself was but a role of mine
as he played for me

but oh
when you take it at that
he was just a word living in the Collins Cobuild
English Language Dictionary on page one
thousand five hundred and fifty six
his name is EDUARD HAMMOND MUNCH

look at his face!

14. the deed of a smeared face

As he spoke his pale lifeless hands quivered
when he touted a look
there was paint smeared on his mouth
it had the colour of a sports toboggan fleeting
screaming over ice cold white snow

but when he mimicked voice
I heard him say
we have branches in most cities
of the hemisphere
from Yokohama to York
from the capital to the stables
oh, and every ocean, every single drop
of water holds the germ of procreation and deception

and when he had done with that
his hands became fluttering doves
fleeing away
the Black Madonna had come to scared him
she with her blackened leather tights
and bust busted up
her smeared mouth too

15. twirling tongue

He got the fright of his life when he saw
the blackened finger and the broken blue nail
the spasmodic rhythm of breath
the heaving chest
and the tongue tied wench twirling
and twisting

when she left him
he thought she was varnish dissolving
it excited him portly

and his face
his face crackled into a smile
and loving it he sighed
the deed was done

16 back up the rails

When DI THE LEVIATHAN
came struggling slithering back up the rails
he was rereading his hieroglyphic mucus trail
sleeper by sleeper
blanca rasa

his screeching claws grabbed
at the departure lists
tearing holes and flints
the exhausted platform’s end
it was an open orifice
the growl from deep inside the abdomen
it was rough with a raucous gruff
there was meaning in it - words
content – verse -
I need no cutlery
I come from the deep
oh, I come from the deepest deep end
I am the man within a woman's body
be not afraid I am mere transvestite

smoke and steam puffed from his anus
forming stratification symbols
his archetypical Janus head a V-sign
and grey the pavement match his phallus

his lips lisp
his thoughts mingled with his farts
strange goings on went on
cut out the heart
cut out fundamental stupidity
eat dregs
eat what you believe in
pig
vomit over your priestly uniform
pray for Kami
pray for Mammy
pray for the Man-with-the-rotting-toenail
pray for Chris
pray for deliverance from the Easy Lam
from the Easy Judgement
from Aion Tall
because a man is but
a malwoman ebut a fe male feman

17. grandiloquent language

She hurriedly sped up the steps
harassing through the gate
firmly clutching her ticket in her hand
oh look at the grandiloquent language
of this poem

Dying flowers
mauve-coloured lilac mixed with red
gore it fell from her purse
she just picked it up

her nails stoic and purple
buts of stain
her lips, her petite lips
= a kiss blown
oh I am late oh I am late oh
her anima
that was hidden inside face
her poise
she stalled in it and frowned

and she opened her mouth
there was the fatal tongue
it was curled and rolled
a ball
fluff a bluff
she could flap it out at any time
and flap it on me
oh I am a feman too

footing my find she was a stone egg
on a tomb
opaque and between us
she hardly occupied any space
she was just an old lady
chocking in her phlegm
oh do I have to write verses like these

I felt how I was falling
how I was supposed to be verse
but she knew I was medium
and looking at me she just changed
the patterns in which I think
and she reached for her face
pressing it against mine
licking at it
licking at my eyelids
my nose
my cheeks

she stuck her tongue between my lips
the amphibian rasp
and feman lily wrap of it
the squeeze of it
inside my mouth it was begging
into me
encouraging me

I stuck out my tongue too
tasting its own amphibian rasp
licking at her face
licking at her eyelids
at her nose
at her cheeks
sticking my tongue between her lips too
yes you are late you are late
look at you

smoke now fumigated from her
the same way it did from DI
and stench too rose from her behind
she was farting
I thought I had to fart too
she was a holler
a reptile
the same as DI
I am not what you think I a!
I am neither man nor fema!
I am the poem you're looking at
I am the nauseating gargle of phlegm
the fermenting pus coming from your throat

oh pre-historic flood oh Holy Water
I have lost the amulet with the silver chain
the talisman and the SAINT CHRISTOPHER GUIDE

Haven’t I given it to you?

18. the libidinous spark

The libidinous spark of her eye
I noticed the lively art of her compassion
I saw the reflection of a panting train
a waiting train holding
and leaving
with no driver in the driver seat

it rolled and puffed up the straight
its trailing gate the bullet red light
its shot
as I saw her go
and wave

and again I saw it
the train that left the station
its sleepers and tracks behind it used
the chubby broken latches

and there was damp sag
oozing upwards from underneath the slurry
and the sludge of the earth’s fundament
and it soiled the platform
the people on it
me
Hades’ seeping finality
it was coming in

19. departure

Her decaying departure
the reiterating sound of her farewell
there was no meaning nor sense in it
not for me

I stayed behind
ingrained in my brain the image
of water swelling
engulfing
the whole of the Railway station

20. from a Greek island

She came from a Greek island and via Patmos
she came new and pristine
a toucan
she came for a day of sightseeing
she saw me
I just had to come to the station
I had heard the music, Berlioz’s Grande Messe
and saw you with the child for the amulet
you, looking like a boy yourself

she was shy
a joyful toy
a thing yet telling me now
bravura merrily guffawed off her
she had to take the pontoon
the truant she was she said and she
nearly fell off the pontoon she said
but of course she didn't
it was the fulcrum point she said
for you and me we met didn’t we?

From Norway she was
and being in the Waiting Room
for a very long time she said
ever since my husband left me

her lips were rosy
a woman consenting to intercourse
but then just for a while
and she smiled
again

Juvante Jezu her tongue was split
it was split like DI THE LEVIATHAN's
and rumbling on and on she alleged
I am not really dead
and I am not really alive as well
oh, I can be what I want to be
when I want to be that!
I am the poem you are trying to write

her skin now had changed from amethyst turf
to moist mud and fell around her like loose leather
I felt how she sully me leaching
into my soul and veins like a cool drug
breezing promising and inviting
it was a weltering the effect of purification

21. initiation

I opened my mouth the way she opened hers
I stuck out my tongue the way she stuck out hers
I too licked into her the way she licked into me
three times
three times
three times
in the magical symbolic way
of the holy tongue kiss
and I made the ritual Rx sign for her

she fully initiated me surrendering
the rasp of her tongue to me
it torn the paint from my lips smearing my cheek, Oxalis
and doing so she carved a pas partout for me
for my style for my poems
for this sequence, oh the unfamiliar pas partout
I had tried so hard to find

oh, muse I stuttered
succumbing utterly too

bright orange bathing suit

she wore a bright orange red bathing suit
her hair was black
her skin was that of a Sudanian negro
and with her very small eyes
her very small feet
her tiny hands
her tiny tiny breasts
she was made from light sentences, verse
held together with tiny lilac blue little knots, this poem

and in her hand there dangled the silver chain
hanging from it the amulet and talisman
portraying the man carrying the child
she held it out for me ferry

seeing it in her slender talon
I could swore true as sulphur
it was me
who had given it to her
in the first place

in the background brilliantly clear
Hector Berlioz's Grande Messe des Morts
as it softly took its ending refrain and grew
the Grande Finale De poenis domine domine libera eas
de poenis inferni

further down the road
wasted singing of school boys playing in the rain
it died down too

comments from readers

Dark, going somewhere dark, exotic, erotic. Congratulations on a good piece of work! – Sandy Coker

The journey of life, our destinies, the moments when we know or feel it is over, choices, hope, death is always present, sorrow in all lives, the thin line between male and female, dreamlike, nightmarish, sad. It's an incredible piece and I'm in awe of the way you use "all" language here. The words pulled me in like quicksand - Ah, see how your writing inspires! – Cassie, Connecticut

This is quite an ambitious undertaking. I do very much like the language-play, between French and English, and the German words and sounds - Unique

For me, it evokes a sense of melancholy nostalgia, a longing for something I can't quite touch, as well, a charming disorientation as these images rush by, very much like watching people on the street from the window of a vehicle, or watching the people behind the windows as a train goes by: a glimpse, an idea, then it's gone; and then the next glimpse. A sense of motion. – MacAllister.

I particularly liked the strong imagery, the stanzas breaking from one line to five, and the story and purpose of the piece could have only come from the length that it is. On the punctuation note . . . the lack of punctuation, random use of capitalization, and varied (yet systematic) stanza length gave the piece a deeply personal feel—a feel that evokes emotions and contemplation in the reader. Additionally, your apt use of these elements made your reader feel like they were immersed in a steam of consciousness—not merely reading one. The sounds are quite nice. I think that they aptly added to mood. My only chit may seem rather minor. I particularly like the je ne pas regret line. Not just the words, but the use of French phrases really added to that section of the piece. Accordingly, I would very much like to see more of these sprinkled through out the poem. I think that these phrases would heighten the piece in true moments of contemplation—i.e. the stanza that begins with “Dying flowers and mauve-coloured lilac mixed with red and gore” is one example of what I am speaking about. Closing this stanza, and those like it, with the evocative phrases would make them “pop,” and justly cause your reader to be pulled deeper into the piece. – Annessa

4 appels 575's – imitation haiku

[ice tea]

lazy day

roses, malvas, panty
hoses in the garden back yard
naughty afternoon

ice tea

ice tea at Serrepaleis
with no sign of her coming
shall I cross the mean?

575a

5 steps running up
the verse's hill till 7
I five you haiku

575b

first's 5's easy see
7's droll's a harder go to
harder still last's 5

existence
roles, scripts, attitude
and then there's haiku verses
in 3 lines we are

[two lovers]

torn

two lovers now and
then she smiles at me so sweet
then she goes to him

tears

always when laughter
tears smile as if wrought from yoke
lord I ache for you

finding you

ending of course you
pretend liking me very much
but you'll recover

meaning of life

the meaning of life
1 man 2 woman 1 love
3 reasons, why 5?

four appels

four appels yellow
and the cloth on the table
both yours for the rake

radio

on the radio's there's
music here Celine Dion's draggest
she drags herself out

enjambement

haiku with enjam-
bements I wonder if it
will work out my way

instinct

not thinking about
orange it just trickles down on me
my world turns orange

omnipotence

said haiku won't work
east west, dear, haiku works it
in all hemespheres

[pissed off]

seeking distance

making an arse of me
seeking distance and verses
I turn to haiku

pissed off

being so pissed off
the whole of the day today
oh, I need some verse

telephones

nobody rings for me
telephones are hung up now
for ever and a day

traveling

on the train I thought
Brussels, Berlin, Krakau but
last stop somewhere else

insight

then sea and your love
of course I know one day you'll
take a boat and go

afternoons

afternoons and my
hype type's tolling high in sky
verses without you

[e-mail]

sleep real

Samsara came to
me in all her lovely sway
are you Nirvana?

e-mail

Rich and Sue and Ann
their mails 3 soldiers marching
with new times arriving

possible healing

come on Sue she begged
sweet smile and breasts oh ho ho
brokenness can be healed

definite healing

come on Ann I begged
steep Dyke's straight forward mousy
healing can be fun

surprise

dragonfly and pool!
but how does it make its sounds?
with haiku never know

spring

its spring but who cares
about a thing? Japanese?
oh, life's OK here

summer

in summer tulips are
gone but then again there's more
sun and that's nice! no?

autumn

in autumn summer's
gone cold like hell on fire
and you are gone too

winter

in winter coats are
longer much much longer than
in autumn haiku

time

she's not time enough
back there she comes before you
know and the day's over

care

her left hand and right
care's taken for her 10 nails
beautiful scratches

lessons

she prepares lessons
teaching me the name of this
and that her whole orb

learning

oh I am learning
rivers and sky and mountains
but this verse stays mine!

refusal

sleep with me she said
no I nod I won't do rod
your world's too large dot

newness

oh you fool, poet you
you are my world your verses
look how mine they are

amazement

underneath soft blouse
tits of size oh so tender
soft this thing life is

words and ryhmz

so much I like it
words and ryhmz and the sky
then it falls on you

ryhme

ryhme, why ryhme haiku?
mime's better, yes I think it
and commas give space

silly

oh my silly! oh
my very lovely silly
lass, till the cows come

the more you haiku
the more I love myself too
oh, we will reach it

[sleep]

sleep

and now I am off
too, the day's been long without
you, you see, love's long

addiction

man, it draws you on
verse after verse and more still
oh, I cannot stop

reunited

now you'll come at last
tonight! and into this verse
I will curl and sleep

fun

oh what fun to ride
on a haiku verse's back
fortissimo go!

5 haiku modes – In Dutch with translations in English

Season of abiding

samenzijn

zittend zagen we
communikatiedraden
en werden spraakloos

part-song

abiding we saw
communication wires
and became speechless

Season of creation

minnekozen

twee lijnen glijden
in elkaar. doordrenkt en lief
scheppen wij een vis

caress

two lines slit in one
combined and lovingly sweet
we created fish

Season of haunting

gewag maken

grauw? grim? wat spookt daar?
de sippe wind over 't watervlak?
o min, komt jij nog?

anxious heart

drab? ash? who's haunting?
the sullen wind on water?
O love, coming still?

Season of Black grass and Feather'ed white

najaar

herfst kilte en wind
in zwarte gras zoekt een eks'r
naarstig naar zijn wit

fall

autumn chill and breeze
in black grass a magpie seeks
after feather'd white

Season of the one-legged storker

lente

de eenbeen reiger
kijk, daar komt zijn minnetje
jij? waar wacht je op?

spring

the one-leg'd storker
look! there's its sweet little lovely!
what you're waiting for?

Season of Loving Care

liefdevolle zorg

moesje meesje vliegt
angstig rond haar jong, aller mijn,
hoe is het met jouw?

loving care

mommy titmouse flits
fearfully after her young
my sweet ... how are you?

paulan's log

1. Unstained puissant the light

Word language … but she tried
Yellow it was and slight sluttish that night
But she tried.
A nose a tail a mouse and a frog
A piece of ham and her feet were like mine
We bartered with it

Green it was
And smaltsy slightly the flight
Due to jealousy I tried
A sunken Tilkin boat a piece of me and my feet
That were like hers
We ran for it

Red it was and unstained
puissant the light
It was with love
But we tried
A river, a delta and a piece of trinitrotoluene

And when the boat blew up
And the ham was eaten
Deep at the bottom the sediment sunk
Both of us had found anandamite
The bright cascading light

Both of us knew we had to veil
The arcane that had saluted us

2. With a little higher grain
It is all so empty, only 'outtalk', shine, faces, colours of eyes, etc.
Where are the real stuff? The content and the Inhalt? The power? The overwhelming inner world? The real personality? Inside living?
Ann Van Kerckhove

'Of course it is dangerous!' I volunteered 'You'll just have to be very careful not to lap other parts off from the CPU. Its cinder is quite difficult to do at slot 1, but with the p.p.g.a its much easier to lap it up. The CPU's surface is not even, especially along the edges. Start with a little higher grain, but not too high though, and work your way slowly down to smaller grains. Just spread the sandpaper on a flat surface then lap it with a circular motion. You will see that its mostly around the edges that sandpapering is needed. Stop lapping when you see the centre core of the CPU being uncovered. Finish it off with very fine sandpaper. It only took me about 10-15 min to lap mine! Good luck and c u Monday! Watch out for Paulan!'
'Snakes?'
'No, Douche and addition. Celan! Smiley!'

3. Did I say something wrong?
What I was trying to say was that I can get you a German vernacular that will over-shadow ordinary vulgar German vernacular
Argo Spier

I remember myself being busy with the ravk and oavk art galleries. I was mufti-tasking various online programs and for engrossment I also logged into a couple of chat rooms at the same time, switching from room to room.
'We are all Mud men in here' someone had typed in a vcl conference chat. It was Saturday night sevenish eastern mean time. In Greenwich Mean Time format it was Sunday morning 5.15.
'5.15 GMT, what time is that in eastern mean time?'
She, Sunday, Connie Sunday, had a peculiar way of forming refreshing sentences on the screen. Talking to her was always a welcome distraction from the tedious work I was doing. But, after asking her question, her typing ceased.
'Has she left? Why so soon?'
Her sudden disappearance from the screen put me to thinking. I was quite taken aback by it. I shouldn't have entered her room. Did I say something wrong, something that aggravated and annoyed her? Why did she ask about the correlation between Greenwich Mean Time and Eastern Mean Time? What was the point to such a question? Does it matter what format time is in? I got the answer to my musing only several weeks later when I have logged out of the Syffrarian Hamilton Heights chat (London) and was back with the files at PB 101 (Belgium) again. And then it hit me like a hammer. She had known where the unscrew was! That's why she had asked the question! It was a designed coincidence from her part to have had asked about a 5.15 GMT when it was exactly 5.15 GMT. She was a full-blown mud man I realised and she was leading me on!

'Why else would she have left after asking the question?'

4. Lighter than 16 million
Boredom is the key element to creation processes …did you know that?
Albert Smit

Tuesday morning normal mean time (GMT) I started with the final tests. There was quite a lot of work to be done. Not only had I to run all the html checks on net mechanic but the internal as well as the external links had to be checked one by one by me. And corrected by hand! From a number of reasons pages can come up unexpectedly or just don't open. Then of course I had to creep into the whole concept again. Looping galleries and their relationship to the picture looping were still to be evaluated as they involved such new approach. But the biggest problem of all was the loading time. And second to that there was the reduction of the number of colours in the jpg's.
I got her on the line ninnies at the writer's toolbox chat.
'Yes I did copy the ravk-template from Zorro and generated it for the oavk gallery' I admitted 'but basically there should be no problem with this. Ravk and oavk are both of the same flux. There's no twiddling with copyright. No profanation of software either.'
'Of course ... yes, I know, but you didn't use the colours as I chose them for the scanned monotypes and there's an 'oops' on the 4th page of ravk!'
'Well eh … the access time is more important … I will fix number 4, ok? 16 million colours are too many. Such a weight slows down loading time to something like 74.5 sec's! No, I don't do that! That's too long! The opening-scroll on both galleries must be faster to be competitive. I have looped all the piques and both ravk and oavk has a nice scroll now. Have you seen the last trial html on oavk? 265 *. GIF doesn't have that much colour loss anymore. 16m *. JPEG formats are killing babies. 70% net weight reduction on speed is worth a wow, don't you think? 11.47. That's write … Geoguides are running! I gained about 70'.
'You don't seem to get it: The colours are NOT the colours I chose for the monotypes!'
'Do you realise what a 70% reduction is worth! It's a gain from 63.03 sec's to 11.47! We easily can recuperate the loss of the 2-sec's a server on the 3 servers … that's 6 sec's gain. We are well below 12 sec's on 33.800K's as it now stands! Pretty good, don't you think?'
' The colours are NOT the colours I chose!'
'Come on … would you prefer oops-messages on all pages with 486es at peak hour? We will loose traffic! One oops is not going to make or break it, now is it? Honestly, 16m are too heavy! 256 are sufficient. Who cares about slight sluttish off-greens and the dark blue magenta spots! Tilkin? We agreed on the content, didn't we? Look I am not criticising you…'
'The colours are NOT the colours I chose! I want the colours I chose!'
There was different tone imprinted on the screen now but I tried once more.
'Do you want me to go back to the original 10 thumbnail layout again? Or 8 piques instead of the 12? Would that be compromise enough for you?'
Now tone became non existed. Blank space. Then it came through with the brilliance of a 107T4 Unisys High Tech. From her side of the time continuum, EMT, so loud and in such bold huge letters it blasts onto my eyes. I could almost hear it. And it fast-scrolled down the screen like images from an automated typewriter, staccato and every single letter came at the same irascible rate.

'I A M T A L K I N G A B O U T C O L O U R! M Y C O L O U R S! T H E C O L O U R S T H A T I H A V E C H O S E N!'

The letters hang there like an escutcheon, a coati of arms. It was Tuesday for me but for her it was already Wednesday. Two continents, two time zones, severed apart like Palaeozoic continental landmasses! I bit on my lip and got cross! But when I wanted to shout with my fingers her illogical mordacity overruns reaction time. I was at F when the image C O L O U R stood again on the screen. I hadn't had time for the Uck leave alone the OFF. Her quick response flabbergasted me. I couldn't remember whether I had already typed the Uck, but I had. I typed it again, then proceeded with the Off. Both Uck's went through.
On the screen appeared

'F
COLOUR
UCK UCK
OFF'

It was embossed!
I just sat there looking at it. That was fatal! She had left! She evaporated from the screen without any adieu. Had she seen the screen before she had logged off? Then I realised, still distracted and surprised at the speed with which she can spit out messages with her hands, that on the blank screen in front of me, I was stuck with 2 art galleries! Oavk and ravk, two galleries looking exactly the same, having exactly the same perfect loading time and the colours on both of them were wrong … exactly as she had said.
' ... Oh, there's a lot of time difference between Greenwich Mean Time and Eastern Mean Time formats' I thought and logged off myself.

5. It's only Leanne
I think it's about time you do some sorting out of what's important to you and what isn't! Looking forward to reading Mary's Maid's Diary, it must be awful!
Gregory Ball

She was gone and I was stuck with the galleries! I was much taken aback by this and the whole of Wednesday was ruined.
'5.15 GMT, what time is that in Eastern Mean Time?'
She's living in Tuesday and I am in Wednesday … or was it the other way round? But I had other work to do. The oavk and ravk galleries can wait! That'll teach her a lesson! I started on the k2345.html and umkulu safari sites.
To the k2345 I wrote 'Subject Reply All: I am not gate keeping anymore' and then I send the following message to the relayed backup entrance of the snug house. 'I am taking full command of k2345.html till the switch and am changing the password! There will be no access possible to the source till a new gatekeeper is found AND on Saturday I will delete k2345@me.com as well as destroy both entrances if your suggestions are not in by then. In the meantime sic Kmary.html will be responsible to place this on the study machine and to keep kamaid.html and kdiary.html posted. Please copy-and-paste and forward all messages and/or comments to wilgcoffee-equals-letters-and-eyes. Be also aware that from now onwards the pb-101 is public domain.'
'Do you find this scary?' she typed.
'Whaaaooat! How did you get in here?' I replied with surprise.
'Don't be scared! It's only Leanne as we have agreed!' and she continued as staccato as was her style 'A a cool sleepy face for you!'
And to make her point she scrolled unintentional asci all over the screen and, as fast as yesterday, left with 'Have a nice day and bye'.
She was gone again! My reaction time … too late again! I sat there for a while and then decided that I would do nothing with the umkulu safari file. I logged off.

6. The fairy can do the copperhead!

Are you awake now?

Stop lapping when you see the centre!
Anonymous Mud man

On Thursday I got my answer!
'Sorry for the late reply but I had a very busy weekend. Thanks for your correspondence, and also, the one concerning the previous one that's about the one from Pelgrimbel Paris = GMT and EMT. I'm not going to comment on it. It just surprised me that he called you his friend. From the little I know about you I gathered that your friend is someone else. A Girl Friday! Anyway, re the project, which obviously will concern both EMT and GMT, please await my answer soon. I'll be away for the next two days and can only make it back on Saturday. Bye'.
What can I do with mails like these? I never send her a mail! What project? What friend? I have no friends. Girl Friday? Who is she talking about? Her niece? Feet? Toe nails? Georges Rouault's Odalisque? Belaga? Servuga?

'Oh, she can take a boat!'

7. Swollen at the bottom
I gathered that your friend is someone else.
Beate Gartner

Thursday was a long day.
With circled drip flat and swollen at the bottom the Pisces three wishes … Belaga, Ociëtra and Sevruga. Caviar. They're invented and wet and are sterilised. They swim towards each other and they looked quit inert!
'Caviar?'
'I think I … or was I dreaming? H504?'

8. Mostly I am trying
The reference was a deconstructive key! Mud men know this!
Your remark re names clarifies how you use or intend to use digital naughty and oney's.
Argo Spier

I unscrewed it for her Friday morning.
'No I don't hide under names! Mud man is not a real name; it is part of a snug house and represents a door for a writer's workspace. The name was taken from the word mud which, when it is written as mud refers to Mufti-Utility-Dimensions. Sleep face only opens or represents the e-mail sleepface@hotmail.com. 'He' is a mud man too. But its a woman. The other door is Wake face, also a mud man and working at wakeface@hotmail.com. My writer's name (not a pseudonym but a character who writes for me and who is now writing this!) is Argo Spier while my real name is also Argo Spier. Most of my work is ghost written anyway! Mostly I am trying to form communication theories while being in this terrible dangerous and lonely medium called stalking Cyberspace. In here we all are only mud = multi-utility-dimensions. Even this COM is not real communication! It's just the character you run that communicates with the character that Argo Spier runs!'
'Oh' she typed on the screen.
Of course I was bluffing but … yesssss I got her!
I haven't mentioned a word about the OAVK and RAVK Galleries. My nose was bleeding. I'll show her! Artlessness! I have guided her into the realms of my homelessness.

9. Wilgcoffee-equal-letters-and-eyes
Frailty your name is man!
And what would have happened if I had not answer your mail?
Beate Gartner

'Let's stick to English' she replied as if she was reading and correcting what I typed the second I typed it.
Her reading was as staccato as her typing, automated and bio-sonic like an alien's when surfacing from deep oceanic depths up to the light of New Age.
'Is she a ghost reader? How can she be on-line at the same time as I?'
She typed again.
'I must now venture into this freedom I have gained! I'll answer your other questions in detail tomorrow. OK?'
Then followed the inevitable bloody 'Bye and have a nice day' and something that shocked me.
'Nice answering me … within this terrible lonely world of cyberspace!'
She evaporated from the screen as if she was never there. Or was she quietly lurking like a mouse with stolen frog feet trying to dive deeper and deeper towards the debris on the bottom of a Tocsin lake? She was running imo!
I typed 'What I was trying to say is that I can get you a German vernacular that will over-shadow ordinary vulgar German vernacular!'
I typed it in an attempt to draw her back from the dark depths of Cyberspace and to find out whether she was from German, Austrian or, Flemish origin. Or just a sanguine gypsy called Carmen!
'If she would get cross, she's probably…' I mused.
And when I logged off later, I thought:
'That was quite clever of me, if she wants leading on, I'll give it to her!'

10. The right sport of dark plum
The poet is a schizophrenic
Ann Van Kerckhove

We met at the El Pasuuan Espana Cyber café. It was 5.15 Saturday morning and she was right on time. When she saw me she came straight for me.
'Look, I don't want to criticise you or your work but why don't you get blurred yourself and/or wake up!' she said 'GMT = Green Muse Trying was the worst book I have ever read! Paulans Log …what has that supposed to be? EMT?' and she laughed into my face as she sat there next to my computer on my desk. Her face was covered with seaweed.
'You are a big fool Argo Spier! Of course I know Paulan's Log equals GMT's brother but that's not the point, is it? You haven't parted with Muse yet, have you? Why don't you run to your Stars and stay there forever! Say, what's up with this the three-fishes-three-wishes shit?'
She shook her hair and blew me an ixx. Now well above water.
'Belaga, Sevruga … where's Ociëtra?'
'Where do you think this caviar comes from?' I said spitting water out of my mouth too. I have survived too.
I looked at her. Her skin was yellow, tanned and her hair was bleached to fit the colour of her lovely face. Oh she looked like a mature mermaid coming after me. Even the right sport of dark plum red stained her nails and toenails. It was freshly varnished and glistened and I saw the tremble in each and every one of them as she talked, standing small and bare inferno in front of me. Her feet were very young and appealing.
'I fixed the galleries for you' I said 'and the colour. Tests are running now at this moment'.
And I almost added 'a Kingdom not mine, my arse!'
But I didn't. I bit on my tongue instead and swallowed my thoughts whole. EMT correlates with GMT. She was swimming. Why shall I screw it up!
'I know' she whispered 'I saw it. Do you know what time it is?' she gasped spitting out more water.
I looked at the right bottom corner of Windows 98 and saw it was 5.16 GMT! Her eyes were stark and ardent. And I embraced the valuable simile between EMT and GMT formats, but really, it was the criticism I was after! I was after it right from the start and I am getting it! I felt all of a sudden very brisk, like the poet I was, and her mentioning of GMT send a throbbing up my temples. It was time … time … the right time … 5.16 GMT, Sunday morning. In EMT format it was young Saturday Night Fever and, balancing between the two of us, the day, with it's perpendicular spine, was swaying and beginning to shed its derrick. Time I really pull her in. We both just logged off and went to bed. It was early.

'Or was it late? Who said poetry's got to make any sense at all? Or could be nice?' I beg into her ear as she swoons down on the bed write there next to my computer and desk.

zinzli's log

1. Zinsli came home Albi

Zinsli came home
'Albi' he asked 'are you making ein Umfahrt?'
'No, nein Stein nein' I said and being proud
of it that I communicate with the man in his own parole
and being Able I write about it
'Where's the beginning? Where's the end?'
'How what ... I don't know!'
'Oh...'

2. a strange man from Wallis

A man from Wallis asked too
'Wer bist du?'
'Pardon me' I answered 'Je ne comprends pas'
And tittering I looked at him
He was a woman!
'I got you there this time, Jeanne D'Arc!'
I tweeted

But then when I had said that
the skeletal wind bolted through the gullet
and oh the barrenness of it in my crux
castigated my frigid icy soul

3. make her sing

Her hindi Heidi was too generous
Her tummi too too adipose
Rubble stubble
Titanic too many fishes in the billows
But sweet sister, Honey Dowager, I can
make her sing!

Dot dot dot.

'Oh, Dotti Dot I can hum you!' I said
sauntering along with my hands hanging by my side
And I laughed and sang her a ditty:

- The bedrocks from home hidden on enormous loam
Frail cordage sweep. Oh Sarum roam
Shepherdess and sheep. Oh Poppy Slit
And did my heart a smitten' -

4. the valley's friend's friend

'Wer bist du?' rang again

Ringing at the top I replied from the bottom
'Aaghhh'

The soft salacious grass hissed
'Isttt tu uu uuu' it came from the rolling downs
It was the valley's cry

'Pissst tuu uuu!'
Its friend from over its shoulder grinned

'Pissss on you oe'
I echoed

Oh and from the knock of the roof
the valley's friends' friend
busted 'Serve erve you write ite ite'

It was then that I smashed my face
'E ittt eittt iettttt'

And when everybody agreed
we all smiled

5. some ago and sister

Dawn Rätischer Bahn
the sky is grey
the months decay
crusts of words

Oh, du!
do moon home ago
and Sister Beautiful Sun

down at the bottom
costly from the sky
down the Rätischer Bahn

6. a home ago no oh no

Looking for frontage some a home ago
'No, oh no!' she said 'no'
'No, don't say no
you don't know
what you are saying when you say no!' I replied
'Yes?' she frowned
'No, yes!
there's no point in the seed in balm
no barby cusp nothing found'
'Oh, no, no, no!' we both shouted
'there's no no
no's not a word!'

7. naked like a swan

(As in many of my treasures) She
went into a corner butcher shop
this time it was the butcher's shop off high
street Arosa
she came out neatly plucked
naked like a swan
carrying something in her beak

'Wie schön es ist am Rhein' she sang
and she called out 'My sandals don't fit!'
I looked at her feet
she had no sandals on

'Oh, where did you come from, my Lovely?
Where do you go to, my Love?'

'When … my Love?'

8. restorante contro>ersa

In Restorante Contro>ersa I changed my Uhr
without changing the time
and I started talking to her
'What time is it?' I asked
'It was 10' she said and laughed
'No it can't be' I said 'Its number 25, Goldschmiede Quick!' I said.
'Take it at 20' she bargained and asked 'Do
you want to have tea, Slow?'.
'No' I said 'it's health tea! Its bad for the stomach. Too good for the heart!'
'No-good? Coffee?' she beckoned.
'Yes' I answered 'Or no? No bubbles troubles!'
Then I laughed chortled and thought.
'When I get home I get home to you'.
But I said 'When I write I will write you.
I will write you a proffer!
And a promise.
I will write it solely for you!
For a piece of silver!'

9. My Foible my Honey

I saw my Honey today, my Sweet.
'Hi, my Sweet!' I said 'Why are you so late, my Honey? My Honey, why? Were you? How long? Where have you been?'
'Oh, I dogged up a mountain it's not my foible, my Honey, I can't help it!' she said.
And she pleaded 'I … I met a gentleman. Oh you, you should have seen the trib-tribulation he's in.
Altogether the state he's in.
The embarrassment you are in!'
'Why, my Sweet? Why my Honey?' I begged.
'Oh, my Sweet, my Honey Sweet, oh I, my Ardour, my Eagerness, my Love, please get Out-side.
Out of your d'eclair stupefaction mending buying!
My Honey, my Sweet, oh!
The state you are in!' she replied.
'Hide, my Sweet, my Honey, my Intricacy.
Oh, the state I am in In-side' I murmered while I got outside.

10. Towards the night

'Clasp' my ear said.
'Clasp' my other ear said.
Up I ranked with the mountain. High up
I faced the sky.
'Classpshht' the little lid of the canister said.
'Classpshht' the next one said.
Up
I propelled with a Heinous in my hand.
Beer in my bequeath.
Up I hurl
high into the day, following the night.
Down I heave
into the valley.
Side-ways I fall
into the clasp of the earth.
Headlong I tumble
into where I began with the clump.

11. Stream a Waterfall

P-wee from mountain grits.
P-wee into valleys.
P-wee little beads into streams.
P-wee into cascades.
Ugh soil distracters.
Ferry stirring glaciers.

P-wee into moving holes.
Woepee strings of pearls.
P-wee washing in mid-air.
P-wee hang-gliding.
P-wee diamonds on strings.
Sparks of fire.
P-wee irregular loafs.

Mummy's comely pearls.

12. A Fax

'Thank you for your fax. The one you send me. No, it was not me who tried to flaw you. Who said it was me who send it? Anyway, I am glad to have heard from you. It was such a long time. Does it blowz there, there where you are?'
'Siren dust?'
'It doesn't blowz snowz here, here where I am'.
'Paramour Beau!'
'Bye, Golden Locks. Goldy Hawn socks'.
Oh, and then, when I reread the fax, the skeletal wind bolted through the gullet again.
Its barrenness in my crux, castigated my frigid icy soul again.

13. She adulates her Swain

'She got timbered' Danna said 'but she adulates
her swain'.
'Its for keeps!' she said 'and on scraps of paper
she substituted his name for her own.
Many times.
But she won't tell him that' she said.
'It attains. I will do it again!' she said again
and then yet again she said 'I am a recovering nurse for you.
Its not for keeps!
Its corn grounded to flour and wasted in the gale.
Oh, I adulate my swain too!'

14. Tin Opener Big Eyes

(From where you stand) Stormy
mountain-side 'I … I
don't like it up here.
Let us down' she said 'all the way down
to the driblet of the pitch.
The bottom drop of the abyss.
Let us up to where there are no deeds to be done.
No rubble.
Only dead straight love between you and me!'
And her eyes drooped into mine.
'No remission' I said.
And with my very tin opener big eyes I looked at her.
'Hopefully' she said 'Wahrscheinlich liest wieder kein Schwein!'
And when she went slack she sighed 'My Love, my Inamorato, how high!'

15. Blue above open Sweaters

(From where I stand) I saw her working
in the garden bowing low.
Playing ten-pinning.
Playing singing a song for me.

From where I stand I saw becoming in her.
Blue above Open Sweaters, green grasses of Bettembourg -
She, trimming the roses, Frau Bärbel, working,
touching into the grove.

From where I stand, Eatl, take my word for it.
I saw her cocked poise.
- Fare thee well scourer. Fare thee well Paramour -
By god, I saw her watching me.

douce and addition

1. Viva Celan or when the the face

Let me give you some rhyme to ryhme
With the mime and not with the meadow
And the things that you know

Let me give you a poem a poem by me

The mountain is high
The sea is low
The poem in your cup = mine
The saucer = yours
And the ruins in between?
It is the way to the sky = ours

The jacket you wear is yellow
The trousers I take off = yours for the take
Paul Celan's muse's hair is autumn
Argo Spier's muse's pubic hair = his
Yours is fall and sweetened is the dark

And now you stir…

2. I hear the dancer dances

With an injured eye I saw the outcry
With a bruised ear I heard of your flight
Crystal-clear I discerned the dancer
On the rhythm of your lucid your sighs

But my love I know you will stay with the gypsy
And your burden will linger on with his tarry
Do tell me! Am I the jester your fool?
The oracled thespian?
When of late I still wish to caper with you?

3. Brown house

The balcony of the brown house is brown
The porch is light brown
The eyes behind the windows are brown
Winking the shutters are light brown

The Deckbette on the bed is brown
Its tongue licking is light brown
The pillowcase snuggling into the Deckbette
Is brown
But your embrace and the roof…

The roof it is black
It is black as a new roof is black

4 .Yellow muse

Her jacket is yellow
Her easy-up lapel is light yellow
Her pockets are yellow
Her straps and ropes are light yellow
Her buttons are yellow
The chain she is tying me with is light yellow

But her hair it is black
It is black as Japanese forcing hair is black
(Or: It is black as as a new camera is black)

5. Lazza Rimi

There are flowers on the fields
There are clouds in the sky
There is a muse in the pocket of my jacket

[You can't see her!]

Ici en vente

[You can never see her!]

6. Burning muse

So young and already smoke
Sprouts from her nose lips and nostrils

So old and still smoke
Too from my smouldering lust for her
In nose lips and nostrils

7. At the stone bell tower

Crossing Maislava heading for Rybna
How do I get to Rybna?
That way she unscrewed

And when then she had said that
She started to run
Up the straight stark
Up the way she had pointed

Not caring a thing about me

8. In the eye

A cow standing on the meadow she
Is munching a flower
Conixta

My eye in her eye
Me in the Eye

9. From the wedding ring the imitation

Skinny boney what does it matter travelling
With her? Her lips
Are red and her heart's from solid gold
What does it matter? Her jacket
And jean

Her jean can fit another and
Her jacket is a blanket for the poor
She's a neighbouring country a continent
What does it matter? Her head's
Solid and lean

What does it matter? She repose
In me and what
From wedding ring to imitation band?
She's a pick-up from the street
Today's champion tomorrow's companion

Her lips
Are red and her heart's of solid gold
What does it matter? Her jacket and jean
Her jean
She can have mine
Her jacket she can keep
Keep us both warm when winter
Summer come

Husband and wife
What does it matter? A gain!
She is a universe
Today's companion tomorrow's champion

'Marry me!'

10. With the wash of day and night in their turning

Frau Brehem opened the window then
But shut it again
The day had done itself up it
But had and suddenly it dried up like a Waddi riverbed

Frau Brehem opened the window when
But shut it again
The dawn of it had come it
But had and suddenly it spread like a New Age

Oh Old Age all of the day had come
But and then suddenly it fell down like dusk
Starched lingerie hung
And with the wash of the wheel she
In eye and lip saw and spoke
False alarm! The Tarot has tossed
The oracled stone!

Then and in the dye of the dice of Love
She saw what could not be had

11. The 4 winds

Foul breaths of winds their thoughts
They're in the Marseillaise of my head
Their voices

Tramontane
Lebech
Levant
Gregali

Their voices…

12. From Medusa's wait

Nights grow with the dew and slowly
Night after night they swell like love puffed virgins
Hungry souls

Night after night at night the nights wink
And wriggle their snakes

Oh you vile guilty ones laughing sweet!
When spawning your basalistic egg
Breeding your feral faul while hauling
Your little snaky babes from Medusa's wait

13. Poets from on mountains high

Rivers flee from mountains running high
And flee into valleys' sinks
Naked at night the muse streecks flaunts
With her cleaved mouth
During the day on the meadow
There is no one

Rivers stall ontop of mountains poising the fall
Of their eyes looking into valleys' sinks
Dressed in the day the muse hides veils
Her comely tongue
During the night on the meadow
There is no one

14. SBB CFF FFS?

Boats and sea and train
And pain in the mountains why?
Boats and sea and train
And in the mountains? Why not?

Oh there's rain and pain
And Sargans in Green Water Pain
And dance

15. Wädenswill

Little boat little boat
Her toe is lilac
Little boat little boat
Her sandal has dropped off
Little boat little boat
One day I will buy me a boat at Wädenswill

Little train little train
Her toe is lilac
Little train little train
Her sandal has dropped off
Little train little train
One day I will buy me a train at Wädenswill

Little boat little boat
Our love is strong
Little boat little boat
Our love is strong
Little boat little boat
One day I will buy her a boat at Wädenswill

Little train little train
Our love is strong
Little train little train
Our love is strong
Little train little train
One day I will buy her a train at Wädenswill

Little boat little boat
Her toe is lilac
Little train little train
Her sandal has dropped off
Little boat little train
One day we will ride and sail to Thalwill

Never to return to Wädenswill

16. Grimacing Muse

She smiled opened her mouth
And when her teeth fell from it
And hit the crystal floor she grimaced
But when she saw her bleeding mouth
In the reflection of the glass door
She screamed like a ghost
A reverant haunted by corpse

And when blood oozed
From the tearing pain of the gape
The little boat little train I bought for her
One could see it sinking into the mirror
Of Wädenswill

17. Johanni Begudi and Marci Zini from Mullhouse

Johanni Begudi went with Marci Zini
- he went with him as far as he could -
and at the foot of the hill
- when Marci Zini had to leave him -
Johanni Begudi asked Marci Zini
'When you think, in what language do you think?'

Marci Zini went with Johanni Begudi
- he went with him as far as he could -
and at the foot of that hill
- when Johanni Begudi had to leave him -
Marci Zini answered Johanni Begudi:
'When you think, in what language do you think?'

Marci Zini returned with Johanni Begudi
- he went with him as far as he could -
and at the foot of that hill
- when Marci Zini had to leave him -
Marci Zini asked Johanni Begudi:
'When you don't think, in what language do you think?'

Johanni Begudi returned with Marci Zini
- he went with him as far as he could -
and at the foot of the hill
- when Marci Zini had to leave him -
Johanni Begudi answered Marci Zini
'When you don't think, in what language do you think?'

18. The bird in the cornfield

The bird in the cornfield sang it's song
Someday sunny day someone
Will come and knock knock on my window
pane

Someday sunny day someone came
knocking knocking on me
Feel free
Knock knock on me

I sang from my window pane:
Someday sunny day some one
will come and knock knock on my window
pane
Someday sunny day some one came
knocking knocking on me
Feel free
Knock knock on me

19. Your poem

See how clever you are
A(KRO)BATE
But my son my poor poor sun
Poems are not made of this
Poems are always something else

20. Her dream

The scream it
She dreamed there was a cut across the face it
Wasn't her face
It was another woman's face
But in the mirror it
wasn't the other women's face
It was her face
Her own screaming tourmaline Madagascarian face

21. Her scream

The dream it
She screamed there was a cut across the face it
Wasn't her face
It was another woman's face
But in the mirror it
Wasn't the other women's face
It was her mother's face
Her mother's own dreaming tourmaline Madagascarian face

22. The marble at the crossing

Ash on your shoulder
Wine on mine
Black is the marble on which you step
White is your face - the face you show me -

White is the marble on which I step
Black is your face - the face I see on you -
Ash on your shoulder
Wine on mine

Give me your hand
We can make the crossing together

23. Look at the mountains

The mountains are nice
The mountains are high
The mountains are the top of the way
To the top

Look at the mountains
Look at their train their snail

The mountains are nice
The mountains are high
The mountains are the top of the way
To the top

Look at the mountains
Look at their train their snail

Don't look at the mess they make
Don't look at the face they rake

The mountains are nice
The mountains are high
The mountains are the top of the way
To the top

Look at the mountains
Look at their train their snail

Go to the mountains Anne go
Go to the mountains Beate go

The mountains are nice
The mountains are high
The mountains are the top of the way
To the top

24. Little river

Little river little river wash your way to the sea
Little river little river flare your flame
Little river little river my love is a little river
My love washes herself to the sea

Little river little river shame on your flare
Little river little river flare your shame
Little river little river my love is a little river
My love washes herself back to me

My love flames her flare for me

25. Was it Mucha's?

No it wasn't Mucha's it
was Jan Zrzavy's Cleopatra 1 and the Still-Life-
with-Lillies-of-the-Valley
It wasn't Mucha's it was
Frantisek Bilek's How-Time-Models-Its-Poet
It wasn't Mucha's it was Maximilian Pirer's
Medusa washing her wriggling hair
No it wasn't Mucha's it was mine

26. Strasbourg blues

Poppy red and cornfield yellow
Graveyard marble and pot on flower lilac

A girl across my face
A snake in the grass
A finger in the pie

Graffiti on the wall
- There's a sign above my head -

Poppy red and cornfield yellow
Graveyard marble and pot on flower lilac
Graffiti on the wall

Daisy in the field - there's a sign above my head -
Aaaaatishhhhoo!
I fell down

A girl across my face
A snake in the grass
A finger in the pie

The train I travel in is blue
Blue blue her boat is blue
Her face is blue
She's dead she dead too
Drowned in the mirror

The mirror of Wädenswill

27. Mademoiselle

Subscribe today!
12 issues for Æ 34
(Pay later if you wish!)
75 hot new hairstyles
Big fat lies that you shouldn't believe about men
10 sex secrets
(That will bring you closer!)
I love my new thighs
(From the dairy of a liposuction)
Make payment by postal order
(PO Box 54348 = 24 devised by 2 = 12
Boulder Co 80322 - 4348 = 75974 = 32
32 devised by 2 = 16 devised by 2 = 8
8 devised by 2 = 4)

Four = your four faces devided
By two Boa-Constrictors

28. The dressing of a poet

I have two eyes
One is a window with a doll dressed in white
The other a window with a doll on a stone

The ring in the middle
Is the flaw in the marble

I have two eyes
One to see you
The other to see the lovely lady screaming
On a tomb

The sword in the middle
Is the cut for the silver

I have three eyes
One is brown the other two yellow
The one sees the snake
The other two you and the egg

29. Deadwood driftng on water

Crying from the cornich the mouth
Screamed its running cry - Deadwood driftng on water
Deadwood makings drifting on water -

Shouting from the water the mouth
Cried its screaming run - Deadwood driftng on water
Deadwood makings drifting on water -

Laughing from the cornich I sneer
My shriek rising - Why have you left me?
Why have you left me? -

Jesting from the water you mimick
Your fickle rout - Why have I left you?
Why have I left you? -

30. Transports CEFCO

What if she was write?
What if a rose is a rose is a lilac rose?
Lilac finger nails?
Screeching rails?
Honey?

A serpent?

What if she was wrong?
What will I do then?
Will I rush home?

Home to where your honey drips
from under your serpent's screech?
From under your lilac blue?

Home to your rail nail?

31. Tongue-tied not a spoken word

He gave her his mouth
She bit it off
Ate it
Smiled
And looked through the bloody hole in his face

She gave him her hand
He rip it off
Hid it
Grimaced
And laughed when seeing her groping for a word for it

[Oh I hadn't had a love for a long time … neither
a verse that rhymes]

32. Her Rhythm

She got up
Up from her strain
Draw herself together
Came to where I was spent

I noticed the stain
Her transit
The blemish of her make
The right of hers and mine

The flight of our take

machines of art - the daring prague interview

If I read a book and it makes my whole body so cold no fire can warm me I know that is poetry.
If I feel physically as if the top of my head were taken off,
I know that is poetry.
Emily Dickinson

Poems are signs, insider material, or at least, deconstructive insider palpations of words. They are constructed out of things that are resilient, interchangeable and descant able and dynamic in temperament. There is movement, transition, division and inclination in poetry. The thingness of words, the things poetry are contrived and structured from, is the where/what-it-is-all-about in poetry. It may sound presumptuous, but, poetry IS this very something which is asked about when the query touches on essentiality. Essence. Formulations and admixtures such as: 'What, Is, The, Essence, Of and Poetry' prove the point: the thingness. Six things (words) are structured in a convincing fabrication. Syntactic rhythm and semantic weight bestow definition, significance and message. A poem, any poem, always enlarges the question of what poetry is. It adds to the historical questioning memoire. 'Poetry, Is, Always, An, Art-historical, Quest, Into, Some, Dark and Region'. The search for essence is convoluted, perplexing and intricate. It is a quest into illogical ambiguity.

Poetry involves two roles, readers and writers. Instead of asking 'What and Poetry?', one should ask 'When and Poetry?'' and/or 'Where, Is and Poetry? There is a symbiotic relationship between the roles, and with only one, poetry simply does not happen. The locality, in time-continuum existence, and transcendence of meaning in poetry depend on both these agencies. Both are essential components. Poetry does not know causes and effects; it is something that only comes into being when it is written-AND-read. The reader's function, in the assembling of poetry, is to unlock the poem the writer has preordained and free it into the source-pool of the Literature Generalis, the vast body of collective literature. When a poem is not read it stays what it was, a germ that infected the brain of the writer. Unread writers (unwritten readers) are of a leprous kind, infected by deadly incubations and therefore dangerous.

But there is more ambiguity: In the dark avenues of literature where the secret matter awaits its prey, the writer/reader and words act out jocular roles. The symbiotic relationship between reader and writer ensures egocentricity. The framework suggested when a statement such as 'He, Is, A and Reader' is made is that the reader is masculine. The he is a he. Is he/she in connection with reader not a more suitable description for a reader? Can a she not read a poem? The immediate answer to this is no! No, because it is neither a he nor a she that is conceived in the mind of a reader when he reads he or he/she. The meaning he gives to a he or a she is me. When the writer employs the word she, in the reader's (writer's?) perception, the semantic categorization is I or me and immediate proof of his or her involvement and role in making the poetry happen. For the reader there is no such thing as he or she. In his/her mind the value of he is always egocentrically categorised and therefore him or herself. One does not have this in prose. It only occurs in poetry. Even if the he was categorically stated and precisely described as being a male Homo Sapiens Generalis, with all the usual male characteristics, beard, genitalia, etc., there is nothing in the brain that connects the she with femininity and the he with masculinity. It connects he/she with being! - I must admit though, luscious broad is not far away from the she, but that's not the point, it always remains a me - so, what is happening? How can language (i.e. poetry) do this? The answer is simple: 'Poems, Aren't, Poems, At, All, They, Are, Always, Something and Else!'

In Green Water Pain, I dealt with this weird form of illogical symmetry. How poetry grows from impregnation and foetal state to medium. How a writer starts with a poem and ends up with language and aggregated signification. How words in poetry become distorted beings (things?), tormenting daylight consciousness with mirages, and how prescribed rules of language conduct are pitched and 'castled' aside in or by poetry. Is that not the driving force behind poetry? Hubbub ness? Thingness? Wilfulness?

There is another point. Degradation! As it is, reading a poem is a sufficiently degrading business for the individual (as he has not written what he is reading) and writing a poem is an even worse form of it (as the writer has not read what he has written). The curse of the poet (reader/writer) is to be compelled to dabble in a play on words where feeling claims superiority over rationality. He can never read (write) his own work and make poetry happen. That is degradation. He has to wait for the reader (writer) to act out his (her) role. Isn't the reader (writer) then really the writer (reader)? In a poem, sentient and subconscious forces are the master. The poet (writer/reader) is the victim and the cursed one. He touches only on the symbolic, mystical and archaic patterns that guide the corporate human soul. Mind you, hear the words worse and curse. They almost rhyme. Rhyme is the secret domain. Hear how language forces its way towards poetry even in normal speech.

Nevertheless: 'Poetry, Is, Really, Just, That, What, It, Is, And, As, Such, It, Is, The, Most, Vile, Corruption, Of, Soul, And, Mind, There and Is' and 'A, Poem, Is, A, Sign, Of and Time'. We have sign versus time. You and I are both concerned with time but in the-story-in-which-we-live, being concerned with sign-time in its full conjectural meaning would be more appropriate. In his anthology Tristia, the Grand Master of Karoian thought, N.P. van Wyk-Louw, dignified the Ars Poetic process as a movement from whistle to blooming moon craters. This movement via trumpet and city employs Shelley's star and verse 'out of three sounds not a fourth is framed, but a star' That is a sign-time coherence. The star is the sign. Where there is a star, there is wonder, transcendence, fresh new meaning, perspective and life. Moreover, word star suggests thing star. It is a sign. It happened in time. Word and sign and time, they are contiguous. Both thing star and word star are augmented by concept star. 'Poetry, Has, Nothing, To, Do, With, Words, It, Works, With and Things'. You do understand that we are now getting dangerously close to the killing field ideas of Lord Byron, the High Priest of the Sarum Poets. Like him, both you and I will ultimately only end up mumbling the same words he ended up with: 'I believe words are things, but I must admit, I haven't found any real proof of it yet'.

'I have worked on the plains of Sarum in my lonely room, night after night for the past eight years. I went deep into the depth of the dens of 18th and 19th-century poetry. Also, Wordsworth, Blake, Yeats, Shelley; they are all men connected with the undercurrent. Do you think any of them ever worried about the essence of poetry? They were caught, bitten and enslaved by the Muse like every modern poet today. They had their hands full, plodding vast unknown spaces. My Seasons of Sarum is a tribute to all of them, the farmers they were, who had the misfortune of stumbling into words, finding chests of treasures - stars - hidden in the rocky soil of language. In the debris that has accumulated by my hand over these past eight years while working with the MBM Word - May-Be-Money-Without-Reaping Dung - on Wallpaper Poetry and Necro Poetica many doors have opened. Sequences like Sample Four, Bogy Road, Mucus Man and Municipal Paint Opera Lodge Café resulted from this and all my Scrolling Poetry and Black water River stories'.

'What and Things? Where and Things? What, Machine, Drives, The and Vehicle?' A metaphor might be a bet: 'Poetry, Is, Peer, To, Graffiti, As, Both, Poetry, And, Graffiti, Is, Motored, By, A, Coequal, Machine, Which, Is, An, Art and Machine'. Poetry is only different from graffiti in that it looks more like language proper, but that is deception. Both are the same kind of phenomenon that arrives from a related source. Identical to graffiti, poetry disembarks by way of, and consists of, signs, symbols and/or strokes of some kind. Both graffiti and poetry are momentary necessities that transcend locality and prove that past and future tenses have a real existence and are part of the present tense. 'Poems, Are, The, Present, Tenses, Of, These, Past, And, Future and Tenses'. They carry a present tense that never ages. Both poetry and graffiti happen on walls. A wall is media, all kinds of media, from paper to buildings, from floors to Cyberspace Nothing. A splash of graffiti is poetry, literature = language in one stroke! Words, attitudes, anger, political aversion, social comment, etc., it all comes together in one rapid movement of the hand. As with graffiti, poetry shocks by its starkness and its ability to transcend the customary and accepted reality. Think of the 16th-century medieval Syrian poet and storyteller, Nab Shaki. He is a good example of this. He communicates morality and changes ethical values without even mentioning them and without the reader realising it. Graffiti does the same. Nab Shaki lived in the Middle Ages but his work is being written today! His work is stark present tense. Quick, rapid stories! All of them sharp as daggers piercing write into the centre of hearts. Closer to home, there is the work of George Herbert. What about the creative and occidental mythologies? Even primitive mythology? The tribal songs of the Australian Arunta Aborigines? The Bible? Continuity and present tense transcendence. Art, Language, meaning, logos, individual signatures and timeless universality. Moreover, there is Source code or Universal corporate thinking. See my poems dealing with rituality. Just open your eyes and you will see the oozing of corporate transcended literature all around us. See The Fifth Essence by Lawrence Krauss and my collection of the Barbarian files in Belim Tower Road. There is also the book by Gerhard Kaiser, Wozu noch Literatur? - Über Dichtung und Leben, but do books like these really give unscrews? Hidden Source thought.

'Poems, Are, The, Very, Dark, Matter, That, Has, Been, Missing, And, Untraceable, Since, The, Birth, Of, The, Human, Psyche, And, Creation, Of, The and Universe.' The processes of bringing symbols to life and speaking the unspeakable, in both graffiti and poetry, are engineered by a ubiquitous machine of art. 'Poems, Just, Come, Like, Graffiti and Come'. Both poetry and graffiti are dark. Both are illicit in qualification. Both are Language-that-forces-its-tongue-into-your-mouth. 'There is a lot of tongue and mouth in my Green Water Pain'. Graffiti is just quicker to appeal to the eye and/or to the conscience of the establishment. In a sense it may be more satisfying than writing poetry … it's quicker in its advance, but the expected thrill in spraying graffiti is no greater, even with the added risk involved in graffiti of being caught while doing it. The illegality and illicitness have the same effect in both. 'Poetry, Is, An, Illicit, Relationship, One's, Wife, Should, Never, Know, About, And, What's, More, But, You, Probably, Know, This, Already, Once, You're, In, Such, A, Relationship, There's, Nothing, You, Can, Do, About, It, And, There's, Nowhere, To and Hide!'

Like the Graffiti Man, the Poet Man touches the Muse's seam - One touches the Muse's seam when she is undressing in front of the mirror while you are hiding underneath a bed - and the result of this is a curse. The Graffiti Man's curse is that he has to run from the police after he has committed his poem. The Poet Man's curse is that he has to hide from ayatollahs. The Muse is a bitch. She cannot help it. She is the one and only one. She's Language Incognito and poetry (graffiti?) is her means of spoiling the wall.

'Essence?' and 'Of, A, Poet's and Concern?'

Red Shoes and Lisbon 2005’s poetry

Dia S. Valentim 2005

Urgentemente

é urgente o amor
é urgente um barco no mar
éurgente destruir certas palavras
odio, solidao e crueldade
alguns lamentos
muitas espadas
é urgente inventar a alegria
multiplicar as searas
é urgente descobrir rosas e rios
é manhas claras
cia o sil&ncio nos ombros e a luz
impura ate doer
éurgente o amor é urgente
permanece
Eugénio de Andrad, Antologia Breve

Red Shoes Lisbon 2005 Valentine poetry

The 8 poems comprising 'Red Shoes' were 'written' in the 'week' of Valentine, February 2005 in Lisbon, Portugal. 'Valentine's weeks' always provide me with bursts of 'writing energy'. Strange 'driving forces' seem to stir in me during this time of the year. I have an inborn natural reluctance to be seduced to 'living out my emotions' on paper or in cyber type, but every year this seems to be overruled during these half February love weeks. And as the years go by it also seems these ‘forces’ make me a greater 'fool for the love of writing poetry'.

The main 'force' this year was the number 8. On the short 'study' trip I made to Lisbon in the Valentine ‘week’ the number 8 appeared on all the rooms I stayed in. Even an air seat had eight in the combination of its number. Seat A17 I interpreted as 1 + 7 = 8 and got a shock when I realised 8 was ‘in there’. The ‘crux’, I only needed 8 poems in ‘Red Shoes’ to convey what I had to say with the sequence. But there were more ‘forces’ and bearing to those than can be found in 'Red Shoes'. Their 'seductive power' was equally strong. First there was the gift of a small bottle containing the love poem Ugentemente by Eugénio de Andrad. Secondly there was a pair of ordinary red shoes at the ballet Quarto Voze in the Theatro Camôes at Pavilhao Atlantico. And thirdly there were two meta-physical discussions I had in Modern Art Musea in Lisbon and Sintra.

The poem of Eugénio de Andrad was a public relations handout from a boat company to all commuters travelling from Almada on the lower side of the Taag river in Lisbon into Cais do Sodré near the center of the city. It was such a lovely gesture, it touched me. Then the red shoes. A queen like apparition of a human being, Muse or mere woman, wore them. They were brilliant red and obviously new but it was apparently the first time she wore them as it was noticeable how they hurt her swollen feet. This purely humane 'oops' of her predicament was a winner and touched me rather deeply. Lastly, there’s was the 'force' of the two meta-discussions I had. They took place in the Modern Art Museum in Sintra and in the Calouste Gulbenkian Museum in Lisbon and dealt with viewer/artist relationships and the 'act' of watching/reading art/poetry. Oh this was right up my alley! The paintings of Fontana, his knife cuts in the canvas, and the work of Helena Almeida, the photo finished canvas, Tela Habitada, in which 13 women figures struggled to escape via the back of the canvas of a painting, were the incentives that started the dialogue. With this too I was sold for a song and became 'writer and poet' again then and there.

All of these various 'driving forces' fired me on and now that I too had a chance to read 'Red Shoes' and having enough hindsight to evaluate it, it seems to me they are the corner stones of what seems to be the central theme of the sequence, namely, 'the tension there is between reader and writer in the strange space of their communal meeting ground'. Homo Victimus has a reluctance to enter it yet always got drawn into it.
Argo Spier

Red Shoes

1. this poem

a poem, not this way
a poem

a poem cannot be
a poem this way, it just cannot be
a poem this way, forty words and
a poem will never be
a poem this way

not this poem
a poem

2. her 2 Camoes Voze red Muse's shoes

up 7th hill
and down towards 28's end
there, in the hollow dip of Lisbon
she walks holding her shoes
in her hands

but up 8th, around the bend
and back towards 28's end again
there, infront of Café Brazilliene
she lets them drop to her feet
and shuffles them on

her 2 Camoes Voze red Muse's shoes

3. Cataleteze

where once rocks were
there's harbour now

and lodges
and a jogging path

but still, in its bent
the Taag draws

and draws unperturbedly
towards the wide open sea

4. View from Almada on Valentine’s day 2005

factory works block the view
to city and river

and it is a shame

but its the high bridge now
that does the trick

it leads straight over
river

and hits the city
in the heart of its center

5. 3 Candles in the cathedral of Obidos

in Disney's land of heritage, Obidos’
oranges and Lucky Strike, 3 candles
flick on their little digital plastic bulbs

in the old cathedral when with a clack
one Euro for each drop into the bin till
and by god it works at group visiting time

when 3 women come out from behind
the fish and fruit market dressed up
and covered in mediaeval lace and frill

at the roadside coffee bar there's coke
and lemon juice and Smokey slam with cake
and the wind blows in from across the street

2 more cigarettes, one after the other
and in the ashtray’s yellow stub, red Valentine
proclaim the a Beata agapea and complete

it with an exclamation mark

6. Sintra's Fontana cut

oops! get on the bus oops! rush up the hill
there’s the Moorish Castle
that was lost to the Christians in 1302

or such it is said

she went to the dogs
and took it to her ruins of Misery
hoping a Knight would come in fall

but oops! who is that daunting one running up the hill?
the wandering Jew?
a wingless Cupidos couleur local?

no, its the flying-by Dutchman
saving fair for the ride to the height of the nudge, Peine
the toast on the toot

but oops! who would have guessed the King’s is gone
and his architect, the man from Germany
with the poor taste ... he is dead!

what a silly affaire this is
the art of it too
but the canvas has a cut

and oh its so very deep

7. old poem repetition

how lovely to tell ... how, what?
oh yes, the wasted heart
that was slain on barren's creep, its faint
crying cackling beat ... but hark, this is an old
poem in which there are no wolves
preying in the fields
and no lions that feed on the lambs

it only has a shimmer and a dark
and a dream and a broken bridge
made from silver and red
and yellow

yolk

it’s only a reflection in your mirror
of my mind

8 women at the back of a painting
(sabates de charol vermelles)

this painting
is a painting of the back of a painting

divided in 8 frames
8 women in every take

6 of them try to break free
6 of them trying to flee their nix

but the bix of all nix
is still in the run of the mill

in its front
and none can get out

only number 7 in her 7th frame
she slips for her love

number 8 she’s white space
she’s the one turning to another love

vanishing to the front
of the back of the painting

Theme analysis by Jenna Glatzer

Poem 1: Feeling constricted. Wanting to let loose of form.
Poem 2: The woman is uninspired, takes a risk and slips on the shoes that represent her imagination?
Poem 3: Although raw beauty has been stripped away and made to conform, there's still a glimmer of hope because the vast ocean can't be constrained by commercialism.
Poem 4: Taking a higher view yields beauty; she gets a better perspective on the world when she makes the effort to move obstructions out of her way.
Poem 5: This is the one that intrigues me the most, yet I don't think I understand its theme. Maybe other people can take a stab at it? Again, seems to be a comment on commercialism.
Poem 6: She's hoping love will come to her, looking for traces of history?
Poem 7: Remembering a time before a broken heart.
Poem 8: The 8 women describe the 8 poems. The first six want to find love, but can't. The seventh does, and the 8th finds love in the poetry itself rather than in a person.

new steel

[Footnote - Note from the Author]

The following poems are images from my stay in Krakow, Poland. I dedicate them now to the Great Polish Poet, Mitosz, whose work I discovered when in Krakow and impressed me so much because of its uncomplicated use of ‘non-poetic’ verbiages. These few footprints of mine, I hope, lead the reader into the direction of Mitosz's work. In my walk through the city … was I trying to step in his footprints …I don’t know! But these marks are some of my dearest memories of Krakow and of Poland!

My gratitude also goes to the Jewish community for the conversations I had with some of its members at Szeroka 2. Believe it or not, the meta-physical topic was … Valentine!

Argo Spier
Krakow 13th and 14th of February 2002

1. On the bus to Krakôw Glouwny

At the bus stop stand halfway from Nova Huta
she bought a beaker filled with ice
it was cold and misty
when she got onto my line
I saw its number, 129
it was on time

'I am nervous' she said
damping her voice inside my niche
it was hot and removed
when she got off her line
she looked at its number, 129
it was way out of time

And moving on, both of us saw
the hint of the snow, in it the shine

It had the colour of steel

2. Valentine's day in a Jewish Café

At ul Szeroka 2 downtown Kazimiers
I drank coffee it was Valentine's day
And smiling I saw printed on the wall
- They All went into the Ark of Noah
two by two of All Flesh wherein is the Breath of Life -

It was Valentine's day women carry long stemmed
roses and trains and trucks depart
All fully loaded and people grinning
And screaming I saw pictured on the wall
- A woman with her hair in black
and a wind that blew as it took her coat -

And knowing I knew her coat
she would never get it back

3. For Valentine its poetry

For Valentine its poetry et musing
and pudding and orange and red
But that's not what's on my mind
I want to engross about the rain at the station
and how all the streets run from there
into the direction of you

For Valentine its love and novelty
and after the Cimmerian season
there are the blue faces of the people
But that's not what's on my mind
I want to scribe about wet tears in the streets
and how all the streets whine looking for you

For Valentine its burning nights
and light bulb buts and smoke in people's eyes
But that's not what's on my mind
I want to write about the funeral in the streets
and the wet clogs of earth on my soles
how all the streets die when they don't find you

4. Valentine in Mozaika

Kawa black no milk white
But sure My Love a chocolate
and a heart of red for you!

- The Heart, its for you! -

- For me? Christ,
you've got the greenest eyes I've ever seen!
Oh, thank YOU! -

8. Sad train

Sad train take her away
don't
Sad train bring her back
don't

Sad train bad train
Take me home
don't

Municipal paint Opera Lodge Café
[the secret pleasures in the palace of joy]

Innerlich hat zie beschlossen keinem Anderen mehr zu zuhören
GOETHE, Wahlverwantschaften.

Hey, say, why did you make the impossible impossible?
Argo Spier

[dedication]

I dedicate what is being written down here, on paper and what is in front of your eyes, to the three Muses who enslaved me in the year 1994, played with me and proved, in that same year and the following, their power to me while this True Story of My Life enfolded in front of me on the screen of my 486DX2 computer.
They are Maya Nuda, Maya Vestita and their elder sister, Nancy Muse, known since the beginning of time as the most cruel and incisive of them all.
I also secretly dedicate this to Hélena, the most beautiful girl in the world.

the black cat

The Black cat's too been messing with Paint.
He's got White all over his fur.
Ying Yang.
West East.
Read Write.
Death Life.
Yes, the cat's playing a dicey game.
He'll end up in the cemetery of the mighty
The Blue Piss Bünn graveyard called Flanders.
Same as me.

1. At Hilvarenbeek the leaves fall
off

from the trees
it's a sunny afternoon no

cloud the trees
are wrong

it's the wrong season
for undressing look

at the sun feel the mistral
heat

no cloud see

the problem is advertising
and TV

advertising makes an idiot
out of you the ad said

on TV
oh advertising and TV

but no cloud
Annie get your gun!

…silly wallpaper

2. The dawning of age opens up
like cyberspace

unexpectedly
early say at 4.35 am

or even earlier say
at the same time the truck

in the poem on page 98
hassles the neighbors

that early
no need for rain etc.

3. Watch space
watch dark blooms

shine on the surface
of Backwater river

no need for rain
no need for space cyberspace

is space enough
for both you and me

4. Working through the night dreaming
rain wet sweat water love poems poems
related to the opera house lodge café
backstage Vienna another life

Valentine

winter spring summer autumn
rain subversive thoughts
authentic passions

Joyce
James sure

waiting behind the doors shoes
dreams writing poems landslides roofs
shoes numbers room
numbers upstairs
sky

don't read what you don't write
slippery mud
slices slippery slices
slipping under feet Macintoshes more
rain more steep rain poems my many poems
on floppy disks on CD-ROMs

wait! wait! wait! open the door
who's behind that door door door
(do you hear hear hear the echo echo?)

5. People notice poems everyday when I write
poems everyday deconstructing poems
writing

people
working on poems filamentary
writings signs of the zodiac

Sagittarius Virgo
Wassermann fire earth water - breath -
and men

people
many people northerners
southerners united east Indian

companies

they write about poems my many poems
they read about poems
my many poems

they read naughty things in poems
very naughty things in my poems
naughty things with married women

children
muses of dark pools death
poisonous life lies lies lies lies lies

wait! wait! wait! open the door
who's behind that door door door

illicit love contagious love
the anatomy of unlove cacophony
of love maestro's maîtres d'hotel

who? who? who?

it's a dream it's in a dream rain wet
water doves poems poems blinds mazes
sky mud slippery mud slices slippery slices

slipping feet slippery mud rain feet shoes
wellies walk write over newly face lifted poems

5. She went into the foyer walked through
the hall into the bar no winter opera ball
this year

she walked out through the door again write
into the rain write onto the slippery terrace
do I know her? someone in disguise?

she smiled a hint a promise a dagger
come she enticed no I said no but
went to her with a flower

oh Lucia Australopithecus erectus
mother of anthropoid what do you want?
'people write about poems' she whispered

your poems coccyx people read poems
your poems
the composer makes use of contrapuntal

devices poems your drafts oops
she slipped on the mud tumbled backwards fell
over the slippery slope

slipping over the crevice
slipping deep into the dark pool
deep into the murky water

of the Backwater river

poems doors rivers torrents of water listen
to the cacophony maestro's and maîtres d'hotel

who is the proprietor?

it's a dream it's in a dream rain wet water drawling
spirits in Jericho damp lands of death
oceans poems back stages lies lies lies

behind venial closed doors mazes sky mud
slippery mud slices her dress her head her legs ooh
what beautiful legs what beautiful thighs what

beautiful feet

6. At Black water’s bridge there's white paint
in the muddy water of Black water river there's
some Black water stories floating on
and in the water drifting
upside down faces down

muddy stories

they're not drowned
because you can see their little hands
reaching into the deep fumbling
tickling teasing the huge ankles
of the mud walkers of the bridge

the feet it is standing on

feet in the water wet shoes
they're tickling up his skirt
smearing dirtying painting

higher and higher
up his drake's shins

7. garçons came out onto the slippery porch
out into the rain the music has stopped feet
slipped when trying walking slipping towards
backslaps mud slides women falling women
maîtres d'hotel smiled maestro's mimicked
members of orchestra's slipping
out of their roles laughing grinning
like horses like gofers
like garçons remarking 'oh your kinds of poems

wallpaper oops

down into dirty pools down
over backslaps slopes
down into the slurry
down into Black water river

don't look smart oops
down

cacophony the maestro's maîtres d'hotel
closed doors imprisonment kay se ra se ra
it's a dream
it's in a dream rain wet water love poems
poems blinds mazes back stages rooms
shoes numbers lies lies lies sky
mud slippery mud slices oops
down over the slippery backslaps slope
slipping disappearing rolling falling
down into deep dark pools yelling
poems drafts scrolling spaces
reading poems oops writing

poems oops

northerners westerners east enders youth opera
I want to go south I want to leave the tempest storm

Lucia why were you born in acrid land?
Myrrhina why do you want to flee
the bridal bed?

down into pools slipping into pools
slipping on mud slippery mud
slices
grey white hairs
age rain
digging dungeons

sky mud steep rain wind
hurricanes

things poems things with/about
married women children abductions
theft
efficient killings

lies lies lies lies lies
poems

wait! wait! wait! open the door
she's behind that door door door

oops down

labyrinths creatures rivers water
Black water river's dark pools murky
muddy slurry waters laughing shouting
Opera Lodge

noises deathly voices
dangerous edges little girls
poems oops and oops

and oops

oops

down
one by one shouting calling day
of deliverance

grey murky mud mud things with
women sky rain thunder
your poems oops your

poems oops

down the mud slides down the backslaps
slopes
down the crevices things with married
muses black cats

lies lies lies lies lies
poems

wait! wait! wait! open the door
oh behind that door door door

down oops write down to the bottom
of the pool
down into Black water river
down into Municipal Paint Opera Lodge Café
arms legs bags paint

oops I Argo Spier

wait! wait! wait! open the door
behind that door door door
do you hear the echo echo echo?

down
down the slope
down over the crevice
some poems slipped first
slow then all my poems slipped fast
down oops my poems

oops

down the slippery backslaps slope
down into the white fangs into the black
muck of the famous Black water River

oh my poems my poems my poems

8. A man sitting waiting daily in a Mercedes Benz
watching wondering as the ferry crossed the black
water
of Blackwater river
daily he stared at a small girl passing
crossing on her way to the art school
carrying her paint brushes sketch
books sandwiches taking the boat
across the murky water of Blackwater river
daily when she passed the man puts his hand
in his trousers touching his underpants
stroking his underbelly looking
at the ferry crossing
oh the slurry of Black water river the dark
dark blue dirty water of Black water river
he never noticed that no one noticed
the Art school girl as she crosses
the murky water
as she crossed alone always alone
carrying paint brushes sketch books
sandwiches some of my poems

9. Painters and poets went up to the Opera Lodge
overlooking Black water river hearing Giordano

they drank
anything just to be able to avoid reading
each others writing

lot's of people came none of 'em
has ever read any of my poems
all stayed safely on top
of the wet porch write
in the rain waiting
drinking hearing
refusing
reading writing Wallpaper

why has nobody no body ever read any of my poems? why does nobody no body ever write any of my poems for me? why do I have to write my own poems? why has nobody no body ever heard about Suzy Wong and The Palace of joy? The Venial Opera Lodge Café? the Swiss Farm Lodge? why? why? why? is the Black water river's water so murky? why is there paint in the water? why is it raining so much? why? where have all the flowers gone? into Santa Christiana Golf Club Page 5? why has nobody no body ever read any of my poems? why does nobody no body ever write any of my poems for me? why do I have to write my own poems why? why? why does nobody no body like Wallpaper? why does nobody no body join Municipal Paint Sections? why? why? why? take Gravel Roads? Sample Fours? Bogy Roads? Loose droppings? Belim Tower Roads? Raam? why? why has nobody no body ever read any of my poems? why does nobody no body ever write any of my poems for me? why do I have to write my own poems? why has nobody no body ever read any of my poems? why does nobody no body ever write any of my poems for me? why do I have to write my own poems? why has nobody no body ever read any of my poems? why does nobody no body ever write any of my poems for me? why do I have to write my own poems? why has nobody no body ever read any of my poems? why does nobody no body ever write any of my poems for me? why do I have to write my own poems? why has nobody no body ever read any of my poems? why does nobody no body ever write any of my poems for me? why do I have to write my own poems? why has nobody no body ever read any of my poems? why does nobody no body ever write any of my poems for me? why do I have to write my own poems? why has nobody no body ever read any of my poems? why does nobody no body ever write any of my poems for me? why do I have to write my own poems? why has nobody no body ever read any of my poems? why does nobody no body ever write any of my poems for me? why do I have to write my own poems? why has nobody no body ever read any of my poems? why does nobody no body ever write any of my poems for me? why do I have to write my own poems? why has nobody no body ever read any of my poems? why does nobody no body ever write any of my poems for me? why do I have to write my own poems? why has nobody no body ever read any of my poems? why does nobody no body ever write any of my poems for me? why do I have to write my own poems? why has nobody no body ever read any of my poems? why does nobody no body ever write any of my poems for me? why do I have to write my own poems? why has nobody no body ever read any of my poems? why does nobody no body ever write any of my poems for me? why do I have to write my own poems? why has nobody no body ever read any of my poems? why does nobody no body ever write any of my poems for me? why do I have to write my own poems? why has nobody no body ever read any of my poems? why does nobody no body ever write any of my poems for me? why do I have to write my own poems? why has nobody no body ever read any of my poems? why does nobody no body ever write any of my poems for me? why do I have to write my own poems? why has nobody no body ever read any of my poems? why does nobody no body ever write any of my poems for me? why do I have to write my own poems? why has nobody no body ever read any of my poems? why does nobody no body ever write any of my poems for me? why do I have to write my own poems? why has nobody no body ever read any of my poems? why does nobody no body ever write any of my poems for me? why do I have to write my own poems? have to write my own poems? have to write poems?

10. Painting lanes keeping up the quality of tarmac
writing Municipal Paint Opera Lodge Café
doing work

rain mud operas etceteras.
Bernstein a Jew came in
he came in via the E41 from the south
he came in just like that
into this poem
into the Municipal Paint Opera Lodge Café
just like that

he came in and went straight for
Black water bridge

11. A young woman 40 there's an old man
of say 47

he's contacting her she wears
silver rings on four her fingers
her hands came on strong oh
he said to her
before we go somewhere else let me
eh I'll have to go put on some other shoes
my feet are killing me
these shoes slip see

oh I thought
what do you care about sweaty slippery
shoes feet things like that

fool

12. Slipping sleeping dancing going to the Opera
another painter's wife dreaming a muse

that's what's done

that's what done when you do done
when you write wallpaper
that's what's wrong
say when

the enticing of the muse

13. Philanderer smattering hugga hugga
bunch of love naughty love slipping
on mud of the black pool Black water
of the black river at Black water’s bridge
but that's what's done
that's what's done red queen hypothesis
you'll get punished for that oh yes
for punishment see you read
your own paper for punishment see
you'll get put off wallpaper
off scrolling white on blue
Bernstein said holding out rulers
for measuring lengths of poems
scrolling white on blue
paper poems and he said
we'll change staff the name
of Municipal Paint Opera Lodge Café

you know
Argo Spier’s Municipal Paint Opera Lodge Café

we’ll change habits
change 'em fast when getting ripe
stop with shit
cut Argo Spier

that sort of thing you know
this business of illicitness the stories
other stories shoes you saw what happened
at the grande finale people slipping
over back drop sets

oh we get other poem writers
other kinds of cloths for to stick on the wall
this wall use varnish no?
nobody can write on varnish

oh we make new rules make new paper
for poems we clean off start with tabula rasa

etc.

that'll teach some
sure Berchta'll get you

14. Into the slurry into waters of Black water rivers
into dungeons deep into pools torrents
of water into holes
into the earth into tunnels underneath
the Municipal Paint Opera Lodge Café
down the stream everyone with a loved one
in cozy gondola's drifting
towards Black water river's bridge

wait your turn clowns aux masques
wait your turn la charmeuze de serpents

a door open Asgard Midgard join
she came in
she came into the waiting hall
stark naked beautiful

oh so beautiful
so young so cry for me Argentina so young

her eyes she went to the first painter
on the first row gave herself to him
while looking me in the eye oh
and I I got into a gondola too
clutching a new shift a very soft
tender little girlish poem oh so tight

(this in brackets)

and started drifting towards Black water river's bridge
all by myself forgetting all about Bernstein

15. Sleeping awakening painting tarmac’s
a man's job doodling mile after mile
straight line miles going going
for a goal for a change
leaving the opera
going Beltis
speaking to Bifröst
leaving women going home painting
going south sunrises the valley of the beaux

a man's job's not a poet's job

sure? sure?

sure after you smile first
please smile
sure after a going to Mooney skies smile

sure?

Adam and Eve sure
even going on the air broadcasting
poems whispering sweet words
light breezes in your ear

whispering

readable and write enabled
poems and all that

sure that sure that love birds fly Manturna
sure that sure that sure that years of stallions
dawn
ever saw a love bird fly? Cats
messing with paint?
people falling off edges?
grand finales?

water?

not me I haven't seen a thing
and a thing is it's a me and a you
and a me a moving towards a you

to a me? (smile brackets)

yes ah to a you to a quick you!
Mrs. Quick-a -Quickie to a you yes ash
as quick as the sounds of wallpaper
as quick as ringing rooms
with doors shut
opera doors
open

as a quick as you can unzip contaminated
files containing poems a half of say
a 1000 of my poems

in all all in all
you can do that? that quick?
you with your typifies and the coming
of oxytocine?

yes sure I can I can can do that that
chop-chop I can can an' all the way away
man oh man woman and woman I can
move a towards you so quick

you won't believe it

that an' a more much more
more quick more when I feel like it
I can even make you mix the paint Julia
Romea make you
go back to your prehistoric origins
of nomadic life
make you bend your knees
make you enter holy water land
with me

16. There were painters and poets there they talked and talked about Wallpaper and my poems and they drank Glue wine at the Municipal Paint Opera Lodge Café and nobody no body was interested in the paint I mix nobody no body knew about Nancy Carlson or The Palace of Joy where Suzy Wong and I the little girl from the Art school she has to cross the Black River at the downside crossing at Black water bridge why has nobody no body ever read any of my poems? why does nobody no body ever write any of my poems for me? why do I have to write my own poems? why has nobody no body never have heard about Suzy Wong and The Palace of joy? The Venial Opera Lodge Café? the Swiss Farm Lodge? why? why? why? is the Black water River's water so murky? why is there paint in the water? why it raining so much? why? where has all the flowers gone? into Santa Christiana Golf Club Page 5? why has nobody no body ever read any of my poems? why does nobody no body ever write any of my poems for me? why do I have to write my own poems why? why? why does nobody no body likes Wallpaper? why does nobody no body join Municipal Paint Sections? why? why? why? take Gravel Roads? Sample Fours? Bogy Roads? Loose droppings? Belim Tower Roads? Raam? why? why has nobody no body ever read any of my poems? why does nobody no body ever write any of my poems for me? why do I have to write my own poems? why has nobody no body ever read any of my poems? why does nobody no body ever write any of my poems for me? why do I have to write my own poems? why has nobody no body ever read any of my poems? why does nobody no body ever write any of my poems for me? they talked and talked about Wallpaper and my poems and they drank Glue wine at the Municipal Paint Opera Lodge Café and nobody no body was interested in the paint I mix they talked and talked about Wallpaper and my poems and they drank Glue wine at the Municipal Paint Opera Lodge Café and nobody no body was interested in the paint I mix they talked and talked about Wallpaper and my poems and they drank Glue wine at the Municipal Paint Opera Lodge Café and nobody no body was interested in the paint I mix they talked and talked about Wallpaper and my poems and they drank Glue wine at the Municipal Paint Opera Lodge Café and nobody no body was interested in the paint I mix they talked and talked about Wallpaper and my poems and they drank Glue wine at the Municipal Paint Opera Lodge Café and nobody no body was interested in the paint I mix and wait under a Christmas tree they talked and talked about Wallpaper and my poems and they drank Glue wine at the Municipal Paint Opera Lodge Café and nobody no body was interested in the paint I mix they talked and talked about Wallpaper and my poems and they drank Glue wine at the Municipal Paint Opera Lodge Café and nobody no body was interested in the paint I mix they talked and talked about Wallpaper and my poems and they drank Glue wine at the Municipal Paint Opera Lodge Café and nobody no body was interested in the paint I mix they talked and talked about Wallpaper and my poems and they drank Glue wine at the Municipal Paint Opera Lodge Café and nobody no body was interested in the paint I mix they talked and talked about Wallpaper and my poems and they drank Glue wine at the Municipal Paint Opera Lodge Café and nobody no body was interested in the paint I mix they talked and talked about Wallpaper and my poems and they drank Glue wine at the Municipal Paint Opera Lodge Café and nobody no body was interested in the paint I mix they talked and talked about Wallpaper and my poems and they drank Glue wine at the Municipal Paint Opera Lodge Café and nobody no body was interested in the paint I mix

all my poems are read anyway why should I bother to write 'em?
they're 'eaf
you know why? all poems are written
anyhow anyway always before and so on
such
they are mute that's why

there were painters and poets there they talked and talked about Wallpaper and my poems and they drank Glue wine at the Municipal Paint Opera Lodge Café and nobody no body was interested in the paint I mix nobody no body knew about Nancy Carlson or The Palace of Joy where Suzy Wong and I the little girl from the Art school she has to cross the Black River at the downside crossing at Black water bridge why has nobody no body ever read any of my poems? why does nobody no body ever write any of my poems for me? why do I have to write my own poems? why has nobody no body never have heard about Suzy Wong and The Palace of joy? The Venial Opera Lodge Café? the Swiss Farm Lodge? why? why? why? is the Black water River's water so murky? why is there paint in the water? why it raining so much? why? where has all the flowers gone? into Santa Christiana Golf Club Page 5? why has nobody no body ever read any of my poems? why does nobody no body ever write any of my poems for me? why do I have to write my own poems why? why? why does nobody no body likes Wallpaper? why does nobody no body join Municipal Paint Sections? why? why? why? take Gravel Roads? Sample Fours? Bogy Roads? Loose droppings? Belim Tower Roads? Raam? why? why has nobody no body ever read any of my poems? why does nobody no body ever write any of my poems for me? why do I have to write my own poems? why has nobody no body ever read any of my poems? why does nobody no body ever write any of my poems for me? why do I have to write my own poems? why has nobody no body ever read any of my poems? why does nobody no body ever write any of my poems for me? they talked and talked about Wallpaper and my poems and they drank Glue wine at the Municipal Paint Opera Lodge Café and nobody no body was interested in the paint I mix they talked and talked about Wallpaper and my poems and they drank Glue wine at the Municipal Paint Opera Lodge Café and nobody no body was interested in the paint I mix they talked and talked about Wallpaper and my poems and they drank Glue wine at the Municipal Paint Opera Lodge Café and nobody no body was interested in the paint I mix they talked and talked about Wallpaper and my poems and they drank Glue wine at the Municipal Paint Opera Lodge Café and nobody no body was interested in the paint I mix they talked and talked about Wallpaper and my poems and they drank Glue wine at the Municipal Paint Opera Lodge Café and nobody no body was interested in the paint I mix they talked and talked about Wallpaper and my poems and they drank Glue wine at the Municipal Paint Opera Lodge Café and nobody no body was interested in the paint I mix they talked and talked about Wallpaper and my poems and they drank Glue wine at the Municipal Paint Opera Lodge Café and nobody no body was interested in the paint I mix they talked and talked about Wallpaper and my poems and they drank Glue wine at the Municipal Paint Opera Lodge Café and nobody no body was interested in the paint I mix they talked and talked about Wallpaper and my poems and they drank Glue wine at the Municipal Paint Opera Lodge Café and nobody no body was interested in the paint I mix they talked and talked about Wallpaper and my poems and they drank Glue wine at the Municipal Paint Opera Lodge Café and nobody no body was interested in the paint I mix they talked and talked about Wallpaper and my poems and they drank Glue wine at the Municipal Paint Opera Lodge Café and nobody no body was interested in the paint I mix they talked and talked about Wallpaper and my poems and they drank Glue wine at the Municipal Paint Opera Lodge Café and nobody no body was interested in the paint I mix

silly Santa Christiana D'Aro Golf Club Page 5 style
same and same

and

over and over again

that's why they are mute that's why
'o 'ou 'ear me?
'o what everybody 'oes

read old stuff used up stuff
worthless poems that stuff

read Municipal Paint Opera Lodge Café
by Argo Spier

read my poems
read read 'em read all my poems all of 'em!
'verybody does that

from Monday to next Monday they
don't work they read poem my poem
all my 'eaf and 'umb poems
from Monday to next Monday I write
poems I don't
work I 'rite 'eaf and 'umb poems

why do I do that? why do they do that?
I ask myself that

why do you do that?

lies
sky mud slippery mud slices then
Bernstein

I don't know why I say to myself
all poems are read
anyway before I write 'em I say
to myself are 'ou 'eaf

you know why?

all poems are written anyway etc.
they are mute that's why

ooooe the loop in this poem doesn't come
write I don't know why I say to myself
all poems are read anyway
before I write 'em anyway

did I say they are deaf?
'ey're mute that's why no it doesn't!

the loop in this poem doesn't come 'rite
kings and queens opera and passion
women and men I don't know why
I say to myself
all poems are read

17. But say

can you tell me who invented Valentine
in 1415?
it wasn't Bishop Valentinius
in 269 was it?
he was a theologian?
was he looping verses like me?

doesn't matter end this poem!

18. And/or is it the paint? do I paint poems?
how can I paint poems? paint poems
in Municipal Paint Opera House Lodge Café?
draw lines on tarmac? there's no staff left
Bernstein had cut staff

Canio warned me about that
not long time ago he warned me not
to get too close to Nedda

Un tal gioco credetemi he had said

what do you know about poems?
look at your café poems
he had said look at the mud
on the marble paint
poems running a lodge
oh you're nothing but a municipal paint
worker doing time sinking like a Hebrus

and nobody said Ruggierro
Leoncavallo was never in here
why say its me tha brings him in?
he had said

you were a bloody liar man the man
died in the echo year 1919 see
he had said

poems you? paint poems you?
trying to get away with it man poems
poems contain words not paint
anyway
all poems are 'rit anyway
they are mute see

19. there were painters and poets there they talked and talked about Wallpaper and my poems and they drank Glue wine at the Municipal Paint Opera Lodge Café and nobody no body was interested in the paint I mix nobody no body knew about Nancy Carlson or The Palace of Joy where Suzy Wong and I the little girl from the Art school she has to cross the Black River at the downside crossing at Black water bridge why has nobody no body ever read any of my poems? why does nobody no body ever write any of my poems for me? why do I have to write my own poems? why has nobody no body never have heard about Suzy Wong and The Palace of joy? The Venial Opera Lodge Café? the Swiss Farm Lodge? why? why? why? is the Black water River's water so murky? why is there paint in the water? why is it raining so much? why? where has all the flowers gone? into Santa Christiana Golf Club Page 5? why has nobody no body ever read any of my poems? why does nobody no body ever write any of my poems for me? why do I have to write my own poems why? why? why does nobody no body likes Wallpaper? why does nobody no body join Municipal Paint Sections? why? why? why? take Gravel Roads? Sample Fours? Bogy Roads? Loose droppings? Belim Tower Roads? Raam? why? why has nobody no body ever read any of my poems? why does nobody no body ever write any of my poems for me? why do I have to write my own poems? why has nobody no body ever read any of my poems? why does nobody no body ever write any of my poems for me? why do I have to write my own poems? why has nobody no body ever read any of my poems? why does nobody no body ever write any of my poems for me? they talked and talked about Wallpaper and my poems and they drank Glue wine at the Municipal Paint Opera Lodge Café and nobody no body was interested in the paint I mix they talked and talked about Wallpaper and my poems and they drank Glue wine at the Municipal Paint Opera Lodge Café and nobody no body was interested in the paint I mix they talked and talked about Wallpaper and my poems and they drank Glue wine at the Municipal Paint Opera Lodge Café and nobody no body was interested in the paint I mix they talked and talked about Wallpaper and my poems and they drank Glue wine at the Municipal Paint Opera Lodge Café and nobody no body was interested in the paint I mix they talked and talked about Wallpaper and my poems and they drank Glue wine at the Municipal Paint Opera Lodge Café and nobody no body was interested in the paint I mix they talked and talked about Wallpaper and my poems and they drank Glue wine at the Municipal Paint Opera Lodge Café and nobody no body was interested in the paint I mix they talked and talked about Wallpaper and my poems and they drank Glue wine at the Municipal Paint Opera Lodge Café and nobody no body was interested in the paint I mix they talked and talked about Wallpaper and my poems and they drank Glue wine at the Municipal Paint Opera Lodge Café and nobody no body was interested in the paint I mix they talked and talked about Wallpaper and my poems and they drank Glue wine at the Municipal Paint Opera Lodge Café and nobody no body was interested in the paint I mix they talked and talked about Wallpaper and my poems and they drank Glue wine at the Municipal Paint Opera Lodge Café and nobody no body was interested in the paint I mix they talked and talked about Wallpaper and my poems and they drank Glue wine at the Municipal Paint Opera Lodge Café and nobody no body was interested in the paint I mix they talked and talked about Wallpaper and my poems and they drank Glue wine at the Municipal Paint Opera Lodge Café and nobody no body was interested in the paint I mix

poems are deaf maybe both of us are deaf the way
we shout he said we shouldn't waste time this way
from Monday to next Monday times like these

sure ok but yessss I said when women fight
about my poems fighting
each other stating claims to be Musesssss

I like it

oh the terrible wonderful fools their legs
oh oops

20. Paint poems black as tarmac nobody can read
darkened poems 'em dem too bark too buddy dark
nobody can read underneath the surface
and deconstruction shhhhhh here they are
let 'em start Tonio's got the say:

the northern sky's grey
the southern sky's bright
Si puo Signore! Signori!
Scutsatemi se solo mi presento
io sono il Prologo
Poiche in iscena ancor le antiche maschere
mette l' autore
in parte ei vuol riprendere levechie usanze
e a voi di nuovoinviami
Ma non per dirvi como pria:

Sagittarius

Le lagime che noi versiam son false:
degli spasmi e dei nostre martir non
allrmatevi!

Capricorn

no copyright he said and coughed
and thought about virgins

Virgo

paint poems blue as blue as deep water as sky
as blue earth nobody can read 'allpaper underneath
the surface
them 'em ducks and geese
not in the water
oh don't be afraid for Fafnir Midgardsormr
be afraid of the Prison of Silence

21. White? paint poems white as straight surfaces
as Doctor Zhivago’s Lara's theme?
as cerebral lines?
no I was won't don't do that was no I won't
paint poems white as snow in movies
that's ridiculous vesti la giubba paper is white
white poems on white paper
that will never work nobody can read white
on white

even when you are dogged down do read
but see white on white that's no wallpaper no
I don't do that do I am not
stupide Pierrot donnant une aubade a la lune!

22. See it is a long story: it started
with the festival Lupercalia down south
the 14 th of February
north got infected
aids pest cancer death
ebola east west love lada genocide
digital fix for short
cuts hogs' ways
micro lasers magnifications
21st century

try it!

three messengers were send
there was a king
he killed all three of ‘em without mercy
he had other plans

the Aphrodite Love Palace was his plan
and he started on his own
to open doors first he opened one door
then he opened all of the doors
also opera doors
letting numenosa free

he started on wallpaper nobody
was supposed to know that
's how I got involved: I knew
(it was me who zipped the poems
with passwords)
it was I who discovered the Welt im Kopf
the Bermuda triangle
deathtraps
feathers and more

and that’s how I got involved with Sadé
with Egon Montorgucil and
Tom

of Finland
and so on and the other Love Palace
Cypria nobody knew
about second place
nor Mrs. Nobody

oh translution transparencies
it was all

lies lies lies lies and Maja nuda
and her sister Maja Vestitas

and their bigger sister Nancy Muse
came and it was very secret and

(to get back to poetry)

the sky
was as clear as Hilvarenbeek's
skies when I'm there
and it was a time when families
were together still
and husbands were husbands still
and wives were poems and poems
were evenings for happiness
and for readers
and the workers came home at night
they got their pills erotica universalis

books like my books were still books
there was no cyberspace nobody knew about
CD-ROM's networks WWW the whole works

you know

it was still nice and quiet and peaceful
and only shilly-shally poems
circulated among poets
there was no opera
big questions
water

Black water rivers

no mud under shoes
no slipping
no Shakespeare Freud
no inter-subjectivity
no inter-textuality
no money
no Heideggerian walk-abouts
no Derrida
no something else
only any things disinfected fashion wear
joggings dark collars dark legions

Adidas shoes

oh it was 17 going onto 18 never to get to 19
and oh there was paper on the wall
and oh signs on the wall women call
children muses of those dark pools
I mentioned and poisonous B1ody art

love life and

lies lies lies lies lies
wait! wait! wait! open the door
who's behind that door door door

illicit love contagious love
the anatomy of unlove
cacophony

maestro's maîtres d'hotel

and oh paper
and oh wall flower signs on the wall
and the very beautiful beautiful soft women
married women their children small
little girls majestic mistresses

were playing in the rain

all was set perfect setting a long story
turubian setting light wave transmissions
Municipal Paint Opera Lodge Cafés
zodiacs stars Aquarius
Sagittarius Virgo
Ram Scorpio Taurus Unicorn
Apophis

snakes
(how do you like this poem?)

(whether I like it? no I don't like it
I should have left it in its first draft
what do I care?
I don't write poems for people to like them
I write poems for people to read them
I don't read poems never no yes no
I don't waste my time with poems
not with white paper stupid poems
my kind

of poems see
it's not worth it nobody reads
poems like these anyway all poems like these
do do are taking up spaces on paper
nobody wants to know
about kings and palaces see)

23. White? paint poems white as straight surfaces
Doctor Zhivago Lara's themes

no I was won't do that no
I won't paint poems white as snow

oh translution transparencies
lies lies lies lies poems

it started

with the festival Lupercalia down south
the 14th of February
there was a king he had 2 queens
one was from the south and one
was from the north some cataract

etc.
but I have said that

and loops of the verses
anyway

24. Scrolling blue space that's nothing something
white letters on blue space that's poetry
it scrolls like roads deep into tarmac black
write into infinity sure that's poetry
sure that's Helena
the most beautiful woman
in the world vigilante Dante paper pages
filling poems

you can say that's OK by me
you can say you're the same as me
that's OK by me too only difference
I am more me than you are me
hey maestro man Municipal Paint
Opera Lodge Café say
you're only in my café because I allow you in it
allow you at my table view
allow you to sip my zeee glue wine
allow you to touch my wall
you see un di all' azzurro spazio oops

Myrrhina don't go from me
see maestro it is I who say who goes where
who goes what mud on what shoes
it is I who tell the story
I who say how many times
I sleep with the same Zodiac sign

Olivia Newton Johnston

it is I who say what paper which wall
which design what wall oh don't go from me
Notty please stay Alices of Wonderlands
oh Roucher take this poem take money
take paper go to her succumb to her heart
bring Maddalena to my door
open the door
open the door of the iron gate Ulster
and Armagh
oh there are Flowers on the table
there are roses in the vase
there are little girls waiting
at the crossing
Eurydice Tu sé morta
Cu Chulainn who screwed
your name again?
Deidre and Noaise

do this for me Roucher

and

you can stay
in Municipal Paint Opera Lodge Café
till the last page
oh stay sisters of mercy

25. On the tarmac on the sly of the terrace Bernstein's
sister Gertrude Stein 'n Violetta 'n the lost one
Sibol 'n Charlotte wait on the steps

who comes in?
who comes into the barn?
who unlocks?
who stays?
who goes?
who went?
who goons?
who bye's?
who is in the foyer?

who is in my lodge?
who are the dream people?

Andrea Chénier? his boss?
Verdi's group with Alfredo Germont?
tutto él follia nel monde cio che non é piacer
godiam fugace e rapido é il gaudio dell' amore

who jumps from century to century like a child?
a girl?
Norwegian girl?
who says hi?
Mrs. Sexton?
Nancy?
Mary-Ann?

who? (who is in my poem?)

ok take it then

kiss a suicide note leave it at the reception inhale
voice something blue go to the H.B.Thom
expect N.P.van.Wijk Louw

three frames in the window
a seagull against the wind
oh ora souave

go stay go for good read final claims
of wallpaper poetry go stay go
for good write
final claims of Wallpapers

queen and queen's husband's lovers
mistresses butchers plural or genitive
darlings of the famous writer Argo Spier

go stay go for good read
final claims of wallaper go
stay go for good write
final claims of Wallpapers

who are the enemies of the nation?

oh but you know you know
listen to me! listen to me!

this is an old fable the citizens of our nation
still believe it
phooey born in Constantinople strange!
studied in Saint-Cyr? soldier? Maestro?
traitor! a bloody poet! a wallpaper man!
a sovvertitor di cuori e di costumi

once it was my pleasure to challenge
hatred and revenge to love purity innocence
strength! a master of wallpaper you called me
once
no I am still your slave
no I am now slave to passion
worst! I kill and shiver as I kill
I cry

I maestro of this I maître d'hôte
In Municipal Paint Opera Lodge Caf"
I was first!
I heard the call from the sky first!
I invented mutual understanding!
I castled my fate over the slope I!

did my belief in openness open!
oh how my glory shone!
oh to awaken again the consciousness
of my readers
to conquer hearts women's hearts oh
to gather the tears of my admirers

good readers good people!
(what about copyright? oh none do do today)
just

to make this world a pantheon
to change people into lovers of my wall
to embrace you all with one kiss
on a piece of poem

hey Gerard! hey that's enough
get off the stage man
let the people come in first
see if the rain's coming on backstage

down mud and sky slippery feet
but get them in get them in first

hey Gerard ii you weren't talking
about me were you?
fool I am against that ask everybody
I don't go for strange women
I don’t go for married women
muses black cats white paint

it's all lies lies lies they tell lies lies

26. Which is better? this one?

oh torrid fatally wounded Capricorn
oh cruel ferocious roar of the Lion

his claw the purity of Virgo
earth the killing with one secured blow
why you innocent creature why
were you so happy

and shy why
did you enter the deep dark pool

didn't you know that's where intruders
die scorched by the fire of desire

heaven

didn't you know that was the domain
of love
the den of poisonous venom
the inner chamber

of the muse

oh what is stronger love or love
oh what is weaker kings or queens

Or this one?

oh torrid fatally wounded Capricorn
oh cruel ferocious roar of the Lion

his claw the purity of Virgo
earth the killing with one secured blow
why you innocent creature why

were you so happy and shy why
did you enter the deep dark pool

didn't you know that's where intruders
die scorched by the fire of desire

didn't you know that was the domain
of love
the den of poisonous venom
the inner chamber

of the muse

oh stranger love oh perilous game
oh noble hunter oh precious prey

which one shall I use for Valentine?
another one?

OK then the next one

her style her red lips the Opera Lodge Café
poems kissings

that poem this poem
think of that that's nicer
this poem

there's no trouble in this poem
no stories

nothing

's a man's pleasure 's a matter
of fact

clear cut water
no paint

a woman sure but this time it
doesn't matter

this time she is safe

Or zen?

3 half blind mice 1
a window

RAAm

one sees one meter
one sees three and a half
one thirty four

water sinks into acrid land

earth no flower
water evaporates goes to the sun

fire Icarus
water boils tears on acrid land

air
flower starts to bloom

Or none?

27. Always when you are busy doing getting
going trying to poem nice poetry

Fata's morgana Vagina's dentata Fata's farts

higher into high high into high space
drifting
water drifting towards Black water’s
bridge

yes

doing going getting paint it's
a hard tarmac much going away

always

Mit den Füsschen tapp tapp tapp
Mit den Händen klapp klapp klapp
Einmal hin einmal her
Rund herum es ist nicht schwer

from everything you know

going doing getting paint
white paint blue space
tarmac faces waiting faces
black faces blue background
tarmac black white letters

Ei das hast du gut gemacht
Ei das hätt' ich nicht gedacht
Seht mir doch den Hänsel an
Wie der tansen kann

Mit dem Köpfchen nick nick nick
mit dem Fingerchen tick tick tick
Einmal hin einmal her
Rund herum es ist nicht schwer

always

28. The paper the blue space poems
are what you see when you look at the tarmac
running backwards and all poems are flattened
on the tarmac there's no point
in trying to read them
no guiding lines how to paint
them

oh them
just

there were painters and poets there they talked and talked about Wallpaper and my poems and they drank Glue wine at the Municipal Paint Opera Lodge Café and nobody no body was interested in the paint I mix nobody no body knew about Nancy Carlson or The Palace of Joy where Suzy Wong and I the little girl from the Art school she has to cross the Black River at the downside crossing at Black water bridge why has nobody no body ever read any of my poems? why does nobody no body ever write any of my poems for me? why do I have to write my own poems? why has nobody no body never have heard about Suzy Wong and The Palace of joy? The Venial Opera Lodge Café? the Swiss Farm Lodge? why? why? why? is the Backwater River's water so murky? why is there paint in the water? why is it raining so much? why? where has all the flowers gone? into Santa Christina Golf Club Page 5? why has nobody no body ever read any of my poems? why does nobody no body ever write any of my poems for me? why do I have to write my own poems why? why? why does nobody no body likes Wallpaper? why does nobody no body join Municipal Paint Sections? why? why? why? take Gravel Roads? Sample Fours? Bogy Roads? Loose droppings? Belim Tower Roads? Raam? why? why has nobody no body ever read any of my poems? why does nobody no body ever write any of my poems for me? why do I have to write my own poems? why has nobody no body ever read any of my poems? why does nobody no body ever write any of my poems for me? why do I have to write my own poems? why has nobody no body ever read any of my poems? why does nobody no body ever write any of my poems for me? they talked and talked about Wallpaper and my poems and they drank Glue wine at the Municipal Paint Opera Lodge Café and nobody no body was interested in the paint I mix they talked and talked about Wallpaper and my poems and they drank Glue wine at the Municipal Paint Opera Lodge Café and nobody no body was interested in the paint I mix they talked and talked about Wallpaper and my poems and they drank Glue wine at the Municipal Paint Opera Lodge Café and nobody no body was interested in the paint I mix they talked and talked about Wallpaper and my poems and they drank Glue wine at the Municipal Paint Opera Lodge Café and nobody no body was interested in the paint I mix they talked and talked about Wallpaper and my poems and they drank Glue wine at the Municipal Paint Opera Lodge Café and nobody no body was interested in the paint I mix they talked and talked about Wallpaper and my poems and they drank Glue wine at the Municipal Paint Opera Lodge Café and nobody no body was interested in the paint I mix they talked and talked about Wallpaper and my poems and they drank Glue wine at the Municipal Paint Opera Lodge Café and nobody no body was interested in the paint I mix they talked and talked about Wallpaper and my poems and they drank Glue wine at the Municipal Paint Opera Lodge Café and nobody no body was interested in the paint I mix they talked and talked about Wallpaper and my poems and they drank Glue wine at the Municipal Paint Opera Lodge Café and nobody no body was interested in the paint I mix they talked and talked about Wallpaper and my poems and they drank Glue wine at the Municipal Paint Opera Lodge Café and nobody no body was interested in the paint I mix they talked and talked about Wallpaper and my poems and they drank Glue wine at the Municipal Paint Opera Lodge Café and nobody no body was interested in the paint I mix they talked and talked about Wallpaper and my poems and they drank Glue wine at the Municipal Paint Opera Lodge Café and nobody no body was interested in the paint I mix

see no guiding lines painted on them
just
plain highway space
straight as a die nada white
line on the blue of the black face of the road

no echo no radar no nothing too
no something

29. Let me tell you what you do go
outside
take paint white or blue
doesn't matter
paint doodles on the tarmac
black makes faces stare at you
call your poems doodle poems
I'll use 'em on the walls of my
Municipal Paint Opera Lodge Café

the good ones

the other ones no I won't throw 'em
I'll just dump them into Black water river

say black blue white? why BBW?
the colours of flags of some things?
or of something nothings?

yes that's it! it's a flag!
haven't you noticed it at the entrance of
the muddy water's Café Opera Lodge?

the opera house?

you haven't now have you? no?
ok so I haven't worked that one out yet

hard enough
have I?

hey you can't write poems like these
'n coin 'em as poems there are rules
for poetry you know!

Evita Peron

that's what I mean see?
black blue white

oh really!
come on what's with this black blue white
any-

way?

train?

readers make the rules
that's what I say

oh yes?

sure?

30. She was 14 and she told me

I drank something bad an' it messed up my tummy
an' my mummy said I had to go to the fixy-clinic
an' in the clinicy

they gave me stiffy painty stuffy
that tasty like mud an annexidoties
they washed away the slurry
an' it was bad an' my mummy
said

I may never go out with the boys again they're
naughty they givy you thingy to drinky
stuff that messy up tummy
my mummy said that

there was also a man at the ferry

she said

31. Three gily girly girls young ones seventeen
yeary old ones
came knocking at my door
open! open! open!
with sweet teenage voices
hide us! hide us! hide us!

they called

quick! quick! quick! under the table
under the chair in the cupboard into my hair
grey hair

(don't make a mistake

this is no surrealistic poemy I Haiti surrealisy
no escapy no love Medusa love

anyway)

thank you! thank you! thank you!
poem us a poem no! but I reach
into high space
open the tarmac black open Bogy Road
hand them this one mem

They danced to the beat of New Wave they danced
to the beat of the shouting crowd god what a
shoe poem
their chanting mesmerised the members
of the opposite sex

they looked the split image of one another
all four of them they were wearing green shorts
green jumpers
green

nail varnish matching
their pre ponderous identities
hurting chanting and with the same topaz skin

the same malformed limbs making
the same amatory gestures

and

malignantly ameliorating
they're waiting
their turn

oh! oh! oh! this is not a nice poem
there are 4 girls in it we are just 3

I know I said but I am too hurt today
I cannot come up with anything else

oh! oh! oh! and then they hide me

under the table under the chair in the cupboard
into their hair pubic hair their beautiful
blond black and blue hair

quick! quick! quick!

32. Your poems are not original
they are just pages of poems of nothing
they come out of prior sequences books
here and there there's no opera
in your opera

sure?

sure except the one you are living in
maybe in your brain no train
to take you to the station

station?

there were painters and poets there they talked and talked about Wallpaper and my poems and they drank Glue wine at the Municipal Paint Opera Lodge Café and nobody no body was interested in the paint I mix nobody no body knew about Nancy Carlson or The Palace of Joy where Suzy Wong and I the little girl from the Art school she has to cross the Black River at the downside crossing at Black water bridge why has nobody no body ever read any of my poems? why does nobody no body ever write any of my poems for me? why do I have to write my own poems? why has nobody no body never have heard about Suzy Wong and The Palace of joy? The Venial Opera Lodge Café? the Swiss Farm Lodge? why? why? why? is the Backwater River's water so murky? why is there paint in the water? why is it raining so much? why? where has all the flowers gone? into Santa Christiana Golf Club Page 5? why has nobody no body ever read any of my poems? why does nobody no body ever write any of my poems for me? why do I have to write my own poems why? why? why does nobody no body likes Wallpaper? why does nobody no body join Municipal Paint Sections? why? why? why? take Gravel Roads? Sample Fours? Bogy Roads? Loose droppings? Belim Tower Roads? Raam? why? why has nobody no body ever read any of my poems? why does nobody no body ever write any of my poems for me? why do I have to write my own poems? why has nobody no body ever read any of my poems? why does nobody no body ever write any of my poems for me? why do I have to write my own poems? why has nobody no body ever read any of my poems? why does nobody no body ever write any of my poems for me? they talked and talked about Wallpaper and my poems and they drank Glue wine at the Municipal Paint Opera Lodge Café and nobody no body was interested in the paint I mix they talked and talked about Wallpaper and my poems and they drank Glue wine at the Municipal Paint Opera Lodge Café and nobody no body was interested in the paint I mix they talked and talked about Wallpaper and my poems and they drank Glue wine at the Municipal Paint Opera Lodge Café and nobody no body was interested in the paint I mix they talked and talked about Wallpaper and my poems and they drank Glue wine at the Municipal Paint Opera Lodge Café and nobody no body was interested in the paint I mix they talked and talked about Wallpaper and my poems and they drank Glue wine at the Municipal Paint Opera Lodge Café and nobody no body was interested in the paint I mix they talked and talked about Wallpaper and my poems and they drank Glue wine at the Municipal Paint Opera Lodge Café and nobody no body was interested in the paint I mix they talked and talked about Wallpaper and my poems and they drank Glue wine at the Municipal Paint Opera Lodge Café and nobody no body was interested in the paint I mix they talked and talked about Wallpaper and my poems and they drank Glue wine at the Municipal Paint Opera Lodge Café and nobody no body was interested in the paint I mix they talked and talked about Wallpaper and my poems and they drank Glue wine at the Municipal Paint Opera Lodge Café and nobody no body was interested in the paint I mix they talked and talked about Wallpaper and my poems and they drank Glue wine at the Municipal Paint Opera Lodge Café and nobody no body was interested in the paint I mix they talked and talked about Wallpaper and my poems and they drank Glue wine at the Municipal Paint Opera Lodge Café and nobody no body was interested in the paint I mix they talked and talked about Wallpaper and my poems and they drank Glue wine at the Municipal Paint Opera Lodge Café and nobody no body was interested in the paint I mix

33. Cyberspace and water and that's all
there is to your poems
oh they haven't got the 'em of 'oem
not the necessary banners
the shoosh of the 'em not enough proof-readers
not enough 'em 'eos not enough readers
burials hotel rooms see
come on tell me what's with this
black blue white any-
way?

train?

your poems are triéste comedia
comedia a trioir

34. No other original nose!
what are we are we all what are all evil
good those opera gofers
what are they doing in Municipal
Paint Opera Lodge Café?

Ceci n'est pas un Magritte!

oh talking uprooted poems?
not original!

oh come on!

and
even
if
they're
too short
and/or too long
and
one never gets the hang of 'em

it
doesn't matter

hurry mix!
mix the paint!

35. Pages and pages of poems who read
pages and pages of poems?

who?

who goes on tarmac when the paint's
still wet?

who?

nobody!
it's silly to do that very silly
your poems are silly by the ways way
it's 10 o'clock 's fighting time
stuff slippery sliding riding going
down

etc.

roller coaster ride fighting man and on time
en farde! en garde surrealism!
the pearl from Paarl sour grapes
from Wellington

Enricques Granados' trés Tablo's
four months of connubial nights

La maja y el ruisenor Paquiro and
Fernando the Dark Pool the Muse

oh Valentino Rosario
oh Jingle Bells

moi je suis mort

shut up mix!

36. Rubbish your poems are rubbish
to call the batch a spade spade
Municipal Paint Spade Lodge spades Café
the same drum as Belim Tower

and Drummer Boy
it's Christmas again again

kodo kodo kodo beat the drum
echo the hearts of mothers
beat on the ears of foetus'

shifts poems mothers muses lovers

you are floating on sentimental music
again
again while doing tarmac
you mustn't do it do it
princes of Valentine
love and hate
king and queen
quadrangles
Scarlet O'Hara
Eduardo Ottilie

oh love hurts

oh poems poems
my poems
Sea poems
Patmos Island Sea Poems
Necro Poetica
Santa Margarita Gold Coast
Ben GP The Man with the Iron Mask
Me
H.C. Bosman and Argo Spier
Samson and Delilah
Hettie Smit
Elizabeth
bah they're all the same
bah the same drum as the drum
of every daily drum buddy ding all
opera train plane rain Spain no
women no intermezzo
no write no read
just mud

nobody reads anything you write
who read anything you wrote?

who reads?

rubbish it is your poems are rubbish to call
the batch a spade a spade my nose

Municipal Paint Opera Lodge Spades
sweat stinks shoes smell love doesn't hurt

the same drum as Bogy Road
well you remember?

Bogy Road? what was that?
Bogy Road was it a road

or was he a person?
the same with Gravel Road

the same as the rubbish
I mentioned earlier

your poems are rubbish
Gravel Mucus

Christiana d' Aro Golf Club Page 5
all rubbish

see what I mean?

37. At Black water river's bridge there's white
paint in the muddy water there are some
Black water stories floating on/in
the mud stories mixing
with paint

and

houses lawns swimming pools
the people the ordinary people
beautiful women

Irene Irene
orthodox Irene their legs oh

her legs oh

the two garçons the maestro
the boxed man
the maître d'hotel
Argo Spier
his poems my poems

everthing mingles with the stories
turning blue blue faces
upsides downsides
under above
crawling cats fast horses cattle
raids Cooley McQueen Jonathan King
aquamarine eyes close your eyes people
shifting moons whisperings in your ears

sweet talk
but nothing seem to drown
not a single verse
not the little sisters

every verse reach with hands
reach into the deep dark muddy pool
brushing tickling enticing
nail varnishing waiting for Godot
whispering continental stories
little maidens masturbating brushing
tickling huge ankles of mud walkers
feet ankles tickling up skirts
smearing white paint
higher and higher
up
inviting thighs

a preppie?
(let me get my breath!)

38. Do draw do paint
do go do draw parking spaces
park all your poems there
but don't put up meters
they don't need parking meters
they'll be parked there for a long
time for ever and
you can't afford the fee
Bob Dylan Dylan
Thomas

of course
but
you can argue
somebody
else can do the job say when you're tired
of writing
say when you are working
on other preppies
say somewhere else in her flat
say you don’t want to go home
say you're in love
say she's waiting behind the door

open the door!

say anything
say something
came up something
that needs poeming faster
s
ay you only trash up the road
with paint say you are colour blind
say you don't know whether blue's better 'n white

on black tarmac roads

say you're washed down to Backwater’s
bridge yourself

say oh
say ash

say it always takes too long to make the point
it always takes so very long

39. She came off age 12 years old tender
poem fragile love poem halloo love

you came in through the door?
you did didn't you?

I am the Landlord Opera Lord in here
André Chenier and so on see
Mocking bird wish me luck
bye bye blues

I am the landlord opera lord
in here you kiss my feet

kiss kiss

now you kiss my cheek

kiss kiss

no! no! I didn't mean that!
you shouldn't have done that!

kiss my cheek see I am the Proprietor
I can change
my mind just like that!
anyway say yes

I was just kidding come have
a liqueur chocolate
I'm a proprietor's left bum
yes and normally women laugh at me
I am too small to be big
that’s why I pretend it all mmmmm

(women fight about my poems though)

ohh their legs
oops

40. Watching water wading while painting tarmac
there's rain everywhere

where can I go?
It's wet everywhere in here oh no

funerary archaeology wet
waterworks why did I get into

this?
why Municipal Paint Opera Lodge Café?

and oh what virus corrupted
my stolen Doom 2 *.wad copy?

41. You can't form your own plurals
by rule you can't

women aren't like that

that's a rule
the rule is you can't do that

it's not allowed

there's no space
for that not for your plurals

in my poems

now is there?

42. The doodling on the tarmac afterwards
you can('t) make out who'd done it
what women entered first
who's the muse
who'd painted what the borders
what the laces and so
the lines the white lines
on the road
the lanes too even

also and

who worked on the pixes an' the bitmaps
who the gifs
who the jpg’s

and who removed the titties oh
who went with the astronauts
who listened to the wavs
Scale now I can see you coming down
the ladder now

and whe Windows are shut down
you can’t make out who'd messed up the logs
who zipped software (I did)

and only then you get to know Suzy Wong
and the Palace of Joy
the Argo Spierhouse the annex
Wilgcoffee

lastly who got into Nancy Carlson's shareware
(I did)

who entered the water of the Black water river

oh that's the danger of doodle poetry
that's the danger of wallpaper

it leaves marks on the walls

smudges

43. What can he ride in? in the alveolar plosive suffix
of laughed that's to say if he laughs at you

look out the door! open grammar is coming
in from where it has been out there on the terrace

outside the fax is eating up your time it mimics
the noise of a telephone its a call from the Opera Café

they're still waiting for the opening act
don't pick it up! don't pick it up!

phone waits for paper to come
out

to come into your life
it's a poem an opera house poem not
a good one

who send poems per fax?
poems starting with

what can he ride in? in the alveolar plosive suffix
of laughed that's to say if he laughs at you

look out the door! open grammar is coming
in from where it has been out there on the terrace

outside the fax is eating up your time it mimics
the noise of a telephone its a call from the Opera Café

44. Greenpeace walkers walk all over America
using highways getting attention going across acid
land singing Caucasian red skins' song

make
this poem look like it's a poem
you've written for me
and I will use it too in the Municipal pre Paint
prepping Rehearsal
sure I'll do that I always do what I say
say for example when you ask me to send
you my poems
I'll send you wallpaper man I will lay so many
miles of scrolling onto you
Jules Verne's 10,000 miles poems
from the depths of the earth you won't
believe it that many sure

Wenn ich etwas will dann will ich es
und das sofort und viel davon

that many sure
Municipal Paint Opera Lodge Café
by Argo Spier's see is coming your way

now
it's nice isn't it?

a man with Caucasian red skins' song
using highways getting attention
going across acrid land

singing

45. All gone vitamins only really means
the vitamins are all gone but or

but

why Kitty can't stand up?
why Adam make tower?

46. There are rules you know don't laugh
don't laugh at rules grammar rules poem rules
at the High Tarmac Opera Paint School Lodge Café

nobody laughs at rules
you laughed?

no sir this section of the Paint School
doesn't allow laughing!

there were painters and poets there they talked and talked about Wallpaper and my poems and they drank Glue wine at the Municipal Paint Opera Lodge Café and nobody no body was interested in the paint I mix nobody no body knew about Nancy Carlson or The Palace of Joy where Suzy Wong and I the little girl from the Art school she has to cross the Black River at the downside crossing at Black water bridge why has nobody no body ever read any of my poems? why does nobody no body ever write any of my poems for me? why do I have to write my own poems? why has nobody no body never have heard about Suzy Wong and The Palace of joy? The Venial Opera Lodge Café? the Swiss Farm Lodge? why? why? why? is the Black water River's water so murky? why is there paint in the water? why is it raining so much? why? where has all the flowers gone? into Santa Christiana Golf Club Page 5? why has nobody no body ever read any of my poems? why does nobody no body ever write any of my poems for me? why do I have to write my own poems why? why? why does nobody no body likes Wallpaper? why does nobody no body join Municipal Paint Sections? why? why? why? take Gravel Roads? Sample Fours? Bogy Roads? Loose droppings? Belim Tower Roads? Raam? why? why has nobody no body ever read any of my poems? why does nobody no body ever write any of my poems for me? why do I have to write my own poems? why has nobody no body ever read any of my poems? why does nobody no body ever write any of my poems for me? why do I have to write my own poems? why has nobody no body ever read any of my poems? why does nobody no body ever write any of my poems for me? they talked and talked about Wallpaper and my poems and they drank Glue wine at the Municipal Paint Opera Lodge Café and nobody no body was interested in the paint I mix they talked and talked about Wallpaper and my poems and they drank Glue wine at the Municipal Paint Opera Lodge Café and nobody no body was interested in the paint I mix they talked and talked about Wallpaper and my poems and they drank Glue wine at the Municipal Paint Opera Lodge Café and nobody no body was interested in the paint I mix they talked and talked about Wallpaper and my poems and they drank Glue wine at the Municipal Paint Opera Lodge Café and nobody no body was interested in the paint I mix they talked and talked about Wallpaper and my poems and they drank Glue wine at the Municipal Paint Opera Lodge Café and nobody no body was interested in the paint I mix they talked and talked about Wallpaper and my poems and they drank Glue wine at the Municipal Paint Opera Lodge Café and nobody no body was interested in the paint I mix they talked and talked about Wallpaper and my poems and they drank Glue wine at the Municipal Paint Opera Lodge Café and nobody no body was interested in the paint I mix they talked and talked about Wallpaper and my poems and they drank Glue wine at the Municipal Paint Opera Lodge Café and nobody no body was interested in the paint I mix they talked and talked about Wallpaper and my poems and they drank Glue wine at the Municipal Paint Opera Lodge Café and nobody no body was interested in the paint I mix they talked and talked about Wallpaper and my poems and they drank Glue wine at the Municipal Paint Opera Lodge Café and nobody no body was interested in the paint I mix they talked and talked about Wallpaper and my poems and they drank Glue wine at the Municipal Paint Opera Lodge Café and nobody no body was interested in the paint I mix they talked and talked about Wallpaper and my poems and they drank Glue wine at the Municipal Paint Opera Lodge Café and nobody no body was interested in the paint I mix

47. Page X Wugs
Wugs do not exist do they?

no they don't but they're fun
it's fun with them

I mean you have all day
to make fun with them when you

don't read when you don't paint
then yes open grammar

Wugs come home to roost on you

all day long they want you to read
poems for them of course you don't write

poems for them!

Wugs Wugs' skulls to long life
Wugs' skulls to my paper

and long days and redid teddies
and good poems my good poems

my poems to Wug's Sköl

48. She was 8 years old and on her nose
she worn glasses Gretle

and she pushed her little brother's pram

up and forth
up and forth she went

on the sides of the lake
at Hilvarenbeek the little brother

smiled
but the water's lurking

the Black water river's water
there's smudges of paint

drifting towards the bridge
towards Backwater’s bridge

49. Hey Rossini are you going to the barber?
don't go you'll hear stories there
Black water stories

La calunnia e un vennticello

drafts
poems children under-
age children women
illicit affairs

oh its only a light breeze
Argo Spier poems are

but still

the muse's skirt
over her head

oops

undress the art school girl

El il meschino caluniato avvilito calpestato
sotto il pubblico flagello per gran sorte va a crepar

don't go man stay we fetch Corky 'n go back
to Catfish row 'n talk to Gershwin
make money

check Bernstein

There's a boat dat's leavin' soon
for New York oh Bess where is my Bess?
in a hotel room ground floor?
Paternoster?
upstairs Opera 202?
in the foyer?
in the lobby?

no?

light breezes
libraries

50. Thinking about it Municipal Waterworks Lodge
Paint Poems
're no good pictures no good
looks blind hoses second-hand palms
paper torn from various sets of preppy
poems vacant rooms no doors
used wallpaper

you think so?

yes your poems are old poems poems
premeditated and 'emed before

how can you tell?

you can tell there’s not enough
Esultate l'orgoglio musulmano

and too much too many
poems and sure 'emed before

worked on with needles
not enough jealousy

black and white stripes
not enough

murder on blue sedans

yes?

yes not enough Desdemona‘s
oceans

yes yes you can tell tell tell
your poems are used wallpaper

torn off pieces of shit rewritten
stuff drafts

no you cannot tell!
no single poem I have read is a poem

'emed before
a pre-med prepoem

because see YOU do read
Municipal Paint Opera Lodge Café

also Ciris' father's not a fool
and you aren't one too

no don't read fool write
write?

51. It's opera stuff it goes through the ages
disperses in the air
it comes into my rooms
there's no woman in my rooms
I'm alone in the water
the torrent of the Black water river
has taken me
along with everything else

Black water river
took 'em all took 'em all

took all of 'em my teddy bears
all of 'em

52. They're waiting at the bridge my darlings are
my dear darlings I am strong

go on
sit down

libra weegschaal twins
hurry sit down

I love thee
I love thee loves

53. The room is blue the paper
on the wall is white

the night is black
behind the curtain there's a door

it is shut
put down the phone

it's not a human voice speaking
do you always mean what you say?

never!
bye bye Poulenc

54. Thinking about it some more I certainly don't
want poems that had already been written in my
Opera Lodge Café I know
a lot of people too
who don't want poems at all never
go to the opera
never

but YOU do
come into Municipal Paint Opera Lodge Café

55. Pre-whitened poems propelled poems poems
that had been written by somebody else
I don't want that
or

Lufhanzaic Verses and coffins or other weird
verses Satanic Verses or dead flowers

dead butterflies fucked-up religion

do you want propelled poems?
already written stuff?

No!

you can do nothing with written stuff
nobody can do anything with written stuff

Nanetta and Fenton's written stuff 's boring
Dal labro il canto Daljosafat blue train

all you can do with written stuff is read it
estasiato vola who wants to do that ?

read?

I certainly don't want to do that
do you want to do that?

read?

come be honest do you read?
do you read my Poiems Oiemps?

or have you just opened at this page?
do you really think I didn't suspect it?

not even women read do they?

what do you mean?
sexist?

no
nothing

I didn't mean that
I meant

a la Groupie
Purity of Heart is a Joy for ever

a thing such thing

I know nobody who likes to read
if you read you cannot write

who wants to read?
nobody see?

56. I am not Faust my name is Argo Spier
It is easier to write than to read

anyway

nobody's going to spent time
reading nobody's going

to read number 5

sure?

man I am so sure of it you won't believe it
as sure as I am sure that you will be watching

the blue skies tonight thinking about how
many people you know who read nobody

you'll be thinking about nobody
Mr. and Mrs. Nobody

by the way Bernstein
he's from Austria did you know that?

Third Man Prater

57. There were painters and poets there they talked and talked about Wallpaper and my poems and they drank Glue wine at the Municipal Paint Opera Lodge Café and nobody no body was interested in the paint I mix nobody no body knew about Nancy Carlson or The Palace of Joy where Suzy Wong and I the little girl from the Art school she has to cross the Black River at the downside crossing at Black water bridge why has nobody no body ever read any of my poems? why does nobody no body ever write any of my poems for me? why do I have to write my own poems? why has nobody no body never have heard about Suzy Wong and The Palace of joy? The Venial Opera Lodge Café? the Swiss Farm Lodge? why? why? why? is the Black water river's water so murky? why is there paint in the water? why is it raining so much? why? where has all the flowers gone? into Santa Christiana Golf Club Page 5? why has nobody no body ever read any of my poems? why does nobody no body ever write any of my poems for me? why do I have to write my own poems why? why? why does nobody no body likes Wallpaper? why does nobody no body join Municipal Paint Sections? why? why? why? take Gravel Roads? Sample Fours? Bogy Roads? Loose droppings? Belim Tower Roads? Raam? why? why has nobody no body ever read any of my poems? why does nobody no body ever write any of my poems for me? why do I have to write my own poems? why has nobody no body ever read any of my poems? why does nobody no body ever write any of my poems for me? why do I have to write my own poems? why has nobody no body ever read any of my poems? why does nobody no body ever write any of my poems for me? they talked and talked about Wallpaper and my poems and they drank Glue wine at the Municipal Paint Opera Lodge Café and nobody no body was interested in the paint I mix they talked and talked about Wallpaper and my poems and they drank Glue wine at the Municipal Paint Opera Lodge Café and nobody no body was interested in the paint I mix they talked and talked about Wallpaper and my poems and they drank Glue wine at the Municipal Paint Opera Lodge Café and nobody no body was interested in the paint I mix they talked and talked about Wallpaper and my poems and they drank Glue wine at the Municipal Paint Opera Lodge Café and nobody no body was interested in the paint I mix they talked and talked about Wallpaper and my poems and they drank Glue wine at the Municipal Paint Opera Lodge Café and nobody no body was interested in the paint I mix they talked and talked about Wallpaper and my poems and they drank Glue wine at the Municipal Paint Opera Lodge Café and nobody no body was interested in the paint I mix they talked and talked about Wallpaper and my poems and they drank Glue wine at the Municipal Paint Opera Lodge Café and nobody no body was interested in the paint I mix they talked and talked about Wallpaper and my poems and they talked and talked about Wallpaper and my poems and they drank Glue wine at the Municipal Paint Opera Lodge Café and nobody no body was interested in the paint I mix they talked and talked about Wallpaper and my poems and they drank Glue wine at the Municipal Paint Opera Lodge Café and nobody no body was interested in the paint I mix they talked and talked about Wallpaper and my poems and they drank Glue wine at the Municipal Paint Opera Lodge Café and nobody no body was interested in the paint I mix they talked and talked about Wallpaper and my poems and they drank Glue wine at the Municipal Paint Opera Lodge Café and nobody no body was interested in the paint I mix

sure Bernstein's living in Austria
Amadeus hotel top floor attic

big wheel Oscar Wilde

58. Thinking about it some more more I'd done
read once say a book

a book called Understanding Language
or was it called Transformational Grammar

a long time ago
one day

59. Thinking about it some more more more not
poems
not even deep love and hurt for a long time
poems
winter spring sombre autumn

trees at waterfronts

Hilvarenbeek years
of crabs crayfish fish in general boul a' Baize

evenings with candle light suppers
music children upstairs
beginnings awakenings beginnings
mixed feelings flowers on tables

you knock it over

Black water slurry
mud rain

upsides down sides
women with black blue white

panties
legs oh

I don't read poems
any poems

not my own poems
not yours

I write poems
my own

(I am not stupid!)

are you stupid?
I didn't think so twice

60. No no babe no
oh no

no
yes no

the beat is off
the bend is slight

the answer is no
no no

no one will notice no
one will no way

on the long tarmac
never

61. On an impulse out of the blue
I picked a small white flower
gave it to her watch her
smile while
taking it

from my black blue white shaky hand

62. Painters came in again prissier night
again thank god we're rid of our women

thank god the women discovered they could write
read each other's poems who wastes time with poems?

in the harem 1782 was a good year nice abduction
didn't last long though O wie ängstlich O wie feurig

lots of wallpaper lots of municipal painters
it's going to be a good night again

without the muses
girls from up town maestro

bring on the stupid Christmas glue wine
Valentine's nose what the hell

let's laugh
about it all and cry Cohen cry

about it all again sing Constance’s song
Perry Como come lay your head

upon my pillow come Home
Little Fox do not stray

man she doesn't care about the paperback
and the Moscow girls on your knee

Drink Brüderlein drink!
Die Stellenbosch se boys kom weer.

Martern aller Arten mögen meiner warten
Ich verlache Qual und Pein nichts soll mich

Erschüttrn nur dann würd' ich zittern wenn ich
Untrue könnte sein

hey maitre

give Mo Zart a Vivat Beaches bring us all lots of Vivats
Ha wie will ich triumphieren ha Pedrillo you give us

a song a last night of the proms song beer garten Opera
House Municipal Paint Bacchanalian revelry

oh man it's a great night tonight
unders the skunders sky

Ein Mädchen hübsch und fein
sah Blue und White war Schwarz von Haar
Seufst Tag und Nacht und weinte gar
wollt gern erlöset sein
Da kam einer junger Rittermann
den jammerte das Mädchen sehr
Ha rief er wag ich Kopf und Ehr
wenn ich sie retten kann
Ha wie will ich triumphieren!
Innerlich hat zie entschlossen nie
wieder ein Ander zu zugehören!

cowing great night hey Dutty Dutty you got rid
of the framed muses?

sure 'an my name's not Dutty it's Argo Spier

ok ok I know that you liked 'em though
didn't you though? Argo Spier muses' man

sure 'n they weren't muses they were married
women opera women they've got children

where're they now?

at the opera

you're sure?

sure

what're they doing there?

they're waiting behind closed doors

oh I see but when are YOU going on?

now can't you see I am on?

63. Coming back off the stage having an aching
back the same aching back as the aching back
in Santa Christiana D'Aro Golf Club Page 5 rain
started coming into the porch front

the same rain
as the rain in Sample Four

the corpses
in their graves started coughing

up from the damp
they started complaining

resurrection day man resurrection day
ought to come soon an old man of 47

with pain alluvia his past
can't live forever

you know
and there were other stories too

let me tell you the story of how
I came to call my computer Suzy Wong

and my company The Palace of Joy

oh its really the story of Nancy Carlson
and the Swiss farm hotel lodge

I owned that lodge once
you know

and it was a long time ago
last year

oh let me tell you the story of how I came
to call my computer Suzy Wong and

my company The Palace of Joy

oh its really the story of Nancy Carlson
and the Swiss farm hotel lodge

I owned that lodge once
and it was a long time ago

this year

oh let me tell you the story of how I came
to call my computer Suzy Wong

and my company The Palace of Joy

oh this is really the story of Nancy Carlson and the Swiss Farm Hotel Lodge I owned that Lodge and it was a long time ago. let me tell you the story of how I came to call my computer Suzy Wong and my company The Palace of Joy this is really the story of Nancy Carlson and the Swiss Farm Hotel Lodge I owned that Lodge and it was a long time ago. let me tell you the story of how I came to call my computer Suzy Wong and my company The Palace of Joy this is really the story of Nancy Carlson and the Swiss Farm Hotel Lodge I owned that Lodge and it was a long time ago. let me tell you the story of how I came to call my computer Suzy Wong and my company The Palace of Joy this is really the story of Nancy Carlson and the Swiss Farm Hotel Lodge I owned that Lodge and it was a long time ago. let me tell you the story of how I came to call my computer Suzy Wong and my company The Palace of Joy this is really the story of Nancy Carlson and the Swiss Farm Hotel Lodge I owned that Lodge and it was a long time ago. let me tell you the story of how I came to call my computer Suzy Wong and my company The Palace of Joy this is really the story of Nancy Carlson and the Swiss Farm Hotel Lodge I owned that Lodge and it was a long time ago. let me tell you the story of how I came to call my computer Suzy Wong and my company The Palace of Joy this is really the story of Nancy Carlson and the Swiss Farm Hotel Lodge I owned that Lodge and it was a long time ago. let me tell you the story of how I came to call my computer Suzy Wong and my company The Palace of Joy this is really the story of Nancy Carlson and the Swiss Farm Hotel Lodge I owned that Lodge and it was a long time ago. let me tell you the story of how I came to call my computer Suzy Wong and my company The Palace of Joy this is really the story of Nancy Carlson and the Swiss Farm Hotel Lodge I owned that Lodge and it was a long time ago. let me tell you the story of how I came to call my computer Suzy Wong and my company The Palace of Joy this is really the story of Nancy Carlson and the Swiss Farm Hotel Lodge I owned that Lodge and it was a long time ago. let me tell you the story of how I came to call my computer Suzy Wong and my company The Palace of Joy this is really the story of Nancy Carlson and the Swiss Farm Hotel Lodge I owned that Lodge and it was a long time ago. let me tell you the story of how I came to call my computer Suzy Wong and my company The Palace of Joy this is really the story of Nancy Carlson and the Swiss Farm Hotel Lodge I owned that Lodge and it was a long time ago. let me tell you the story of how I came to call my computer Suzy Wong and my company The Palace of Joy this is really the story of Nancy Carlson and the Swiss Farm Hotel Lodge I owned that Lodge and it was a long time ago. let me tell you the story of how I came to call my computer Suzy Wong and my company The Palace of Joy this is really the story of Nancy Carlson and the Swiss Farm Hotel Lodge I owned that Lodge and it was a long time ago and then I got interested in Opera and went to live in Vienna Foreshore

coming back off the stage having an aching back the same
aching back as the aching back in Santa Christiana
D'Aro Golf Club Page 5 rain
started coming in the same rain

as the rain
in Sample Four the corpses

in their graves started coughing
up

from the damp
they started complaining

resurrection day man resurrection day
ought to come soon

a young man of 74 with joy alluvia his past
can't die forever

you know
and there were other stories too

64. I fell in love with opera when I got out of the war
Punic War I started to write stopped with reading

completely

It was Nancy Nancy Carlson who came to me
and afterwards I started to write to her
papers pages poems letters love
kisses kissing physhis
opera songs
winter songs
fall songs
illicit love songs

Hilvarenbeek songs
beaches Eros Thanatos

***

65. Three asterics three messengers three Flowers
you read what I write you love
what I love you love
me

I love you

I will tell you what I wrote
this is what I wrote

Nancy dear Nancy I am sitting in the Swiss farm lodge hotel on the slopes of the Frenchhoek it is now or never and a long time ago that I am writing poems in front of a nice fire passionate fire full of passion for you there are logs and logs of expensive wood burning slowly and the fire is into my longing soul and upping up my feelings and there are my memories of Hilvarenbeek of the trees and the river my dear Nancy do you still remember me? that night in the back of the bus?

nobody noticed us.

66. She came in not
on the E41 as Bernstein did but through Cyberspace

hi she said why are you lying?

Nancy! Nancy! I shouted
how do you know I'm lying?

I know
and she came over to me oh

and she kissed me
and started womanising

flirting oh mmmmm nice
with her head with her blue face

with her black mouth
with her white tongue

oh I said

yes you're lying she says

this wasn't written in the Swiss farm lodge hotel on the slopes of the Frenchhoek this was written in the dark of the room in your head in the Piss Bünn Flaenders horseshoe valley why do you lie?

that way anyway I am sorry
oh all I can do lately is lie lie lie

I can't help it
anyway let's say this was written

while watching holy water streaming
from the sky shall we?

no she said
never no

oh
oh holy water streaming all over my face

all over my body making my skin foreskin
fingers agile holy water in my cognac glass

pissing up my Courvoisier

oh Nancy oh Nancy not the police not
the police

they were asking about my poems
the ones in the water drifting

towards Black water bridge

no she said
no never

yes I said
oh holy water streaming all over my face

all over my body making my skin foreskin
my fingers agile holy water

and then she kissed me Humperdinck's
Ten Guitars Tom Jones' yellow ribbons

and then
then I really started to write

poetry

67. Take my word for it
and and use it for any

other word try it
say

winter

it is winter

now my word and your word 's
the same

and
even if it is not winter

it's nice to know
you and I can do it

isn't it?

68. Yes! yes! let's make poetry!
I shouted

no she sighed
not us but you

you make poetry!

69. POEM ONE

work your body really work it well
work the knobs get to know the levers

the gas lever makes you
go faster really

70. POEM TWO

she looked in the mirror she saw
her mirror image

she's a glass person with glass veins
look I am imitating myself

she said and look
this is a poem

says who?

says I she said
and laughed like a child

look at my flower it comes from Armagh
it was giving me by Navan

71. POEM THREE

she sits in front of herself oh I am so old
she said old as wrinkled as leaves crunched

falling fall leaves falling from trees
winter trees Hilvarenbeek trees

and oh where is the fire you were talking
about

a couple of poems ago?
where is a gardener who sings in the rain?

72. POEM FOUR

Mrs. Appleby Lady Chattily
you just have different names

but you are the same
oh where is the fire?

the poet in the rain?
your poet in the rain?

73. POEM FIVE

she had a lot of problems a lot of
fantasies a sweet Körper a beautiful

mouth oh her legs

I have a sweet Körper she said
I have a lot of fantasies she said

why do I have a lot of problems?
why do I have a lot of fantasies?

why do I have a sweet Körper?
why do I have a mouth?

why do I have legs?
why does Argo Spier write when he mentions my legs

oh?

74. POEM SIX

all the women sit in a circle everyone
has her own orgasm one woman said

yes all else frustrates
the same women said yes?

poetry?

yes the rest of the women … nod

yes! yes! yes!

75. POEM SEVEN

every woman has her own
way every woman comes

and goes as often as

an arrow out of a tensed bow
a cannon ball
a policeman's gun
an Eskimo from Alaska

an electrical-chemical discharge

yes?

yes!

every woman comes back goes away

as often as

this thing what is this thing
called a poem

an arrow out...
a cannon ...
a po ...
an e ...
an ...

oh yes I know! she’ll come back!

76. POEM EIGHT

not all stars shine not all the time
no no nod noddy genital massage can change

that

yes yes electron things deep into space yes nod
your body explodes ask any one yes ask

yes yes ask
horseshoe ask

77. POEM NINE

names what's in names an idiot asked
a long time ago

oh Shakespearean sexton Ian fool
a woman a woman's names
a woman in every name even
in men's names a woman
a small little girl

a young woman

78. POEM TEN

read me
make friends with me
live with me
love me
marry me.

contact me please

79. POEM ELEVEN

love making then oh you know what that is?

it's that thing when a woman gets
into you never to get out again

that thing when the pilot takes you away
to foreign countries holiday in the sun

booze ah that thing when they lock the gate
when you die oooooooh ah

that sucking thing … ah

80. POEM TWELVE

you don't need to need this you don't need that
you need in fact nothing what the hell 's this then

when you need that?
not this?

in fact nothing too
I think

81. Nancy purring on my lap when then the police
came again train came to the steps
of the Municipal Opera Lodge Café
oh I didn't know what to say
and she so tender soft and the things she and etc.
and it was embarrassing
to get dressed in front of everybody
and an' my complaint vanished

then an' there

and I was so sorry
I couldn't finish this story

get dressed get dressed!
hurry!

82. Here sorry sorry you came there and here
was a poet in here and there
he has left now

sorry sorry sorry
Bernstein took him

please listen
Nancy was never in here

83. I can do sweet
all about that now no I know

nothing about that
nothing about the muses

the drafts

no she wasn't in here oh the fire?
's not worth much cheap wood it is

a little fire anyway
and the poems in the water of Black water river?

not my doing
there wasn't a woman in here!

the art school girl
I do not know her

no my name's not Argo Spier it's SDutty
its differentio

no I am not a writer
I am a reader

yes all I do is read
I read from Monday to Monday

winter summer spring young autumn
Valentine I read

Christmas I read I never write
never ever never will cannot

I've never written one single letter
in my life

honestly I am illiterate honestly
I don't lie

I cannot write
I don't know this girl

I have nothing to do with Nancy
barber talk? compromising stuff?

Just a light breeze?

I am not like that I don't go for that
and that?

I don't go for that either
women?

no
never

married women never
lots of women never I am not like that

I don't go for that I don't deal in poetry
don't know how

nobody reads I read
everybody write I don't

no I don't have a Mercedes Benz
sorry?

oh sorry sorry you came there was
a poet in here he has left now

I am so sorry sorry so sorry
Onute sorry

sorry for poetry
sorry for you

84. And his letter he send me asking please
comply explain it's the new rules

now

explain where you were
why you weren't where there
why you were
why you were and not
and
why you were not
and
why the art school girl
and why not or there
or the other thing
before the married women
why the one whose ticket you swiped just to win
why lotteries in Belfast
why chestnut eyes
why at last the drafts in the water
the ones before before those ones
or the other ones the hidden ones
why the wall

those ones
the ones you keep for yourself
the important ones you know what I mean?
the big ones those things

anthologies
Municipal Paint Opera Lodge Café

the little flowers
your poems

or true paint in the water

why
I want to know

85. Then things got out of hand in the opera
house
poems communications
the king's love affair
the palaces
and finally Ball the corrector
dropped off

he didn't want to do the corrections
anymore
nor ghost writing Argo Spier

and Van Vosselen
started mixing French letters with opera

and Bob Farley
didn't understand it all

letters
the school teachers started asking

about the art
school girl's art work and awkward sketches

the police smiled at Bernstein
in the background

of Municipal Paint Opera Lodge
Café

I.D. numbers
Mercedes Benz box cars

and the painters wanted more
money

more transparency
not so much paint and shit

overtime fell away
maitrês and garçons grew slow

very sssslow
forgot the change

no Greeks came
no mythology

no theology
no silky blue skies

no good solid old time poem
writing religion!

hey everybody shouted
hey we want real poems not pussy paint

stuff
not in the foyer fiuïda

get paint
out of here!

get paper in
in here!

tear off
blurbs

end love

sir this paint's already been mixed
its white

sir I cannot dump these drafts
just like that sir

oh the smudge sorry sorry

oh Backwater’s river
oh oops!

oh I can't dump paint just like that!
and where must I send my love

to now?

besides people need lines
on the tarmac

how 're they gon' see where to go dem dark?
they'll fall off the edges

into crevices
into Black water river

get this paint out of here!
this is a tavern and an opera house

not a half classy second-hand whore house
café

and those people
you are talking about

they don't have to see
where they go

not from here they don't

everybody goes over the cliff
anyway

god no
I thought

religion
do I hate religion

86. And more rules came over the phone
they said
change through exchange has to come sooner
and faster food there must be faster food for poetry

one we need
to get rid of paint altogether
two get rid of stale gale
papyrus too
three we need
different colours new walls
four different sets
five different kinds of wallpaper
six different kinds of gofers change interiors
seven new nex opera new sound

Carreras Domingo Pavarotti
Mehta

Eight double numenosum
get rid of women

altogether

bye bye Callas
bye bye Montserat

Mamma

nine get a new name for Municipal Paint Opera Lodge Café
ten everybody to shut up shut their mouths

no talking in poems anymore
not Argo Spier's kind of talking

eleven not repetitive poems

twelve yes yes more
graves

for all those resurrected graveyard drifting poems
on Black water river

by the way what was this talk
of a blue Mercedes’?

Bernstein's got one
the school master's got one

the deputy everybody's got one
the police?

(what are the sergeants driving in?)

Lucia di Lammermoor?
Violetta?

Nancy? twelve commandments
sign here

87. Painting this poem my gaze wondered
across the big water's belly

they're really gone gone come for my paint
I thought

Madama Butterfly she's waiting
for me yet another flya in my spider web

La Fanciulla del West
La Rondine
Il Trittico
Suor Angelica
Gianni Schicchi
Turandot

can't just believe in poems like
that there's

got to be love too
no trouble somewhere

no trouble
no no no babe no no trouble

etc.
come to think of it

no I don't want no trouble
and

on this line there's a skew knit somewhere
its not on the wall this time

somewhere a flower a lover
in this bed of my head

oops
but the line it got it
somewhere

neat

88. I started to write a letter today
I wrote on the first line love love love
tore it up
walked to the wall
kissed the wall
then banged my head

and went else where

to the Opera Lodge

89. The paper is blue the letters are white
the paper is silkily blue feel the black

of the blue on the white softness
of the thigh

of the muse
wetness on her lips saliva open lips

and love love love poisonous love
and sofas Zappa's sofas

and naked eyes
oops

the line

it's too short short too short
for a poem of paint

too long long to send as a short note
to you mentioning love love love

90. Love and unloose white flowers in blue vases
much tarmac black a hard go go
and a man's job not a poet's

the flowers are for the ladies
the booze are on the tables

ah who cares about the tables?
who cares about kissings

under Valentine Christmas trees?
cats in the rain?

names? feeling young?
nobody plain nobody

love and unloose love
it wears you out some down

same as passion
and so on

same as read same as
roads and write

same as shoes that's too big big boots
give me a booty n I'll boot this poem write

into Black water river
and never look at it again

91. I don't care love has worn me out
down

the crevice sure has Nancy's
comma

there's a lock on her door
chastity bridal padlock door

unloose is my love I don't care
love has worn me out up and away

day time and night

92. Before I used to be a well known poet
a long time ago three months

not long ago the painters
took my job

oh I was loved I was
everybody's sweet heart

't was good
I remember how

poems phoned in on modems
intravenous glass fibres

optical light
vinegar I had black lightning

opera tower beams
butter

kings and queens
and love

and passion
and other women too

oh I fell in love with their toes
their legs

oh their mouths
their eyes

what else

their little writings their poems their landslides
their roofs under which they sleep at night
their shoes their room numbers
their starry skies

but that was before
now mud slippery mud slices

slippery slices
slipping under feet Macintoshes more

now
Black water river

now then Valentine
Christmases

isn't there any love
anywhere?

93. Who want poems?
my poems?

nobody no body
no lovers

isn't there any a lover
for me

anywhere?
somewhere?

94. POEM THIRTEEN

you say to everybody
you are good
and that's so nice to hear
that you are good
when you are good

95. But closing time honestly
there's no time no time left anymore
no time to talk
no time for poetry
no time for a good lane
of paint

no driving
only crevices

things are falling apart an' that works on me
then done do shoes mud oh things are falling
from heaven earth

an' that works on me
where is the lover of my life?

on the steps of the Municipal Paint Opera lodge Café?
she's waiting

no she's gone done do into the Zodiac zoo!

96. I don't believe it saliva smudging blue paper
black silence ringing silence

white knight

not you too!
you can't survive it!

where is the lover of my life?
on the steps of the Municipal Paint Opera Lodge Café?

no?
she went over the cliff didn't you see?

maybe that's the reason why she's
not here and the police

there are reasons for things you know
how can I write

when I start to read?
things are falling apart an' that works on me

this border is no good this lane's skew
I can't drive in lanes like these I can't redo

poems start it again

97. Why do you always bring in the odd Jews
in your work Bernstein ask

always just as a by the way bye
hello

it's always so obvious always
so bloody obvious

the odd walking
one diastolic Jew

banging around
wandering wondering

there were painters and poets there they talked and talked about Wallpaper and my poems and they drank Glue wine at the Municipal Paint Opera Lodge Café and nobody no body was interested in the paint I mix nobody no body knew about Nancy Carlson or The Palace of Joy where Suzy Wong and I the little girl from the Art school she has to cross the Black River at the downside crossing at Black water bridge why has nobody no body ever read any of my poems? why does nobody no body ever write any of my poems for me? why do I have to write my own poems? why has nobody no body never have heard about Suzy Wong and The Palace of joy? The Venial Opera Lodge Café? the Swiss Farm Lodge? why? why? why? is the Black water river's water so murky? why is there paint in the water? why is it raining so much? Benozzo Gozzoli? A horse? why? where has all the flowers gone? into Santa Christiana Golf Club Page 5? why has nobody no body ever read any of my poems? why does nobody no body ever write any of my poems for me? why do I have to write my own poems why? why? why does nobody no body likes Wallpaper? why does nobody no body join Municipal Paint Sections? why? why? why? take Gravel Roads? Sample Fours? Bogy Roads? Loose droppings? Belim Tower Roads? Raam? why? why has nobody no body ever read any of my poems? why does nobody no body ever write any of my poems for me? why do I have to write my own poems? why has nobody no body ever read any of my poems? why does nobody no body ever write any of my poems for me? why do I have to write my own poems? why has nobody no body ever read any of my poems? why does nobody no body ever write any of my poems for me? they talked and talked about Wallpaper and my poems and they drank Glue wine at the Municipal Paint Opera Lodge Café and nobody no body was interested in the paint I mix they talked and talked about Wallpaper and my poems and they drank Glue wine at the Municipal Paint Opera Lodge Café and nobody no body was interested in the paint I mix they talked and talked about Wallpaper and my poems and they drank Glue wine at the Municipal Paint Opera Lodge Café and nobody no body was interested in the paint I mix they talked and talked about Wallpaper and my poems and they drank Glue wine at the Municipal Paint Opera Lodge Café and nobody no body was interested in the paint I mix they talked and talked about Wallpaper and my poems and they drank Glue wine at the Municipal Paint Opera Lodge Café and nobody no body was interested in the paint I mix they talked and talked about Wallpaper and my poems and they drank Glue wine at the Municipal Paint Opera Lodge Café and nobody no body was interested in the paint I mix they talked and talked about Wallpaper and my poems and they drank Glue wine at the Municipal Paint Opera Lodge Café and nobody no body was interested in the paint I mix they talked and talked about Wallpaper and my poems and they drank Glue wine at the Municipal Paint Opera Lodge Café and nobody no body was interested in the paint I mix they talked and talked about Wallpaper and my poems and they drank Glue wine at the Municipal Paint Opera Lodge Café and nobody no body was interested in the paint I mix they talked and talked about Wallpaper and my poems and they drank Glue wine at the Municipal Paint Opera Lodge Café and nobody no body was interested in the paint I mix they talked and talked about Wallpaper and my poems and they drank Glue wine at the Municipal Paint Opera Lodge Café and nobody no body was interested in the paint I mix they talked and talked about Wallpaper and my poems and they drank Glue wine at the Municipal Paint Opera Lodge Café and nobody no body was interested in the paint I mix

I didn't bring him in he came in by
himself

the odd Jew?

yes
mud-man proctor

98. Talked to a man he said I'm dead I'm not supposed
to speak to you

its ok I said I can get into that
there's no communication between the living
and the dead I said

I know but there's no
communication between the living either

everybody lives as if they're already
in your state and you know what I mean?

I mean look at the geese my age
they're all like me

no communication

I mean look at it straight
talk of communication and that

yes he said communication's but a story
and the symbols of it are signs

as with poetry

yes yes I said I know exactly what you mean
there are many fools who know sweet all

about poetry they're like you dead for reality
they don't even understand that poetry has signs

sure and the resurrection sign is the best no?
the coming to for you type of thing

néh he said I read you
I wrote

you are in Greek now aren't you? you read?
néh he said again it's p

p? I asked néh he said p p
for beautiful

hey that's good
nobody will notice

that one néh?
néh but don't

write a poem about it he
nod

ok I said and stopped writing
this poem then

and here
because it was 5 again

the half erected penis

99. A reminder

again

at Black water river's bridge there's white paint in the muddy water there's some Black water stories floating on their tummies there's mud mixing with the paint the houses the lawns swimming pools the people the ordinary people the beautiful woman her legs man her thighs the two garçons everything mingles with the stories turning upside down faces down they're not drowned they're in the same shape as the little stories an' their sweet little hands reach into the deep

brushing tickling the same as all the rest of the poems
the other stories they tickle up-

wards
towards

the thighs

brushing tickling the huge ankles
of the mud walkers of the bridge his feet his ankles they're tickling up his skirt smearing the white paint
higher and higher
up
up

his smeared thighs

a pre pre poem?
are you sure?

isn't there love anywhere?

100. POEM FOURTEEN

getting off age going fast forty seven's
like a passing truck passing

4.30 AM

early
in the morning

waking up the neighbours

no need for rain no need
for poems

shhhhhht!

the truck has passed go back
to sleep

for
the rest of your night

101. POEM FIFTEEN

At Black water river's bridge start stories start
poetry end poetry

start with my poetry
stop with my poems

save! save! this is a good one
C/trl + Enter

102. Trying working again busy mixing paint trying thinking
about some illicit love contagious love
the anatomy of unlove
cacophony maestro's maîtres d'hotel

who? who? who?

it's a dream it's in a dream rain wet
water doves poems poems
blinds mazes sky mud slippery mud
slices slippery slices

slipping feet slippery mud rain
feet shoes
some Black water bridge ideas for poems
you can't

end off an anthology with 47 poems
when she's 40 I mean

it's not done such
working busy mixing paint trying thinking

I reached out into vast open tarmac
waste 47+

no woman lots of women
not a single opera

the paint 's hot ah
the tarmac up 47°

an' here I stand with my brush in my hand
an' here I am pages and pages past

Black water bridge
no poem lots of poems

none of 'em mine
no poem lots of tarmac

103. POEM SIXTEEN

who says you can't end off an anthology
with 47 poems? what rule?

write a poem with four verses?
nobody reads a poem with six verses make

it five really 4's too short

104. ONE MORE POEM

waiting at the bridge many people are crossing
why not?
write a poem waiting in the rain
none no harm no done

no?

a poem about a bicycle?

a bike's a bike's a bike's a bike
his sister said hi Gertrude

and
a police man is a police man

then done do shoes mud oh things
are falling from heaven earth
an' that works on me
where is the lover of my life?

on the steps of the Municipal Paint
Opera lodge Café?

she's waiting
no she's gone done do into the Zodiac zoo

I don't believe it saliva smudging blue paper
black silence ringing silence

white knight

not you too
you can't survive it!

Hughes white letters on the tarmac
hey this is a poem this is a good one

done shoes mud oh
then done do shoes mud oh things
are falling from heaven earth
an' that works on me
where is the lover of my life?

on the steps of the Municipal Paint
Opera lodge Café

yes she's waiting
no she's gone done do into the Zodiac zoo

I don't believe it saliva smudging blue paper
black silence ringing silence

white knight

not you too
you can't survive it!

the art school girl passed
smiling holding a small flower

in her white trembling hand
she came towards me towards

in my black blue white Mercedes
Beans car

then done do shoes mud oh things
are falling from heaven earth

an' that works on me
where is the lover of my life?

on the steps of the Municipal Paint
Opera lodge Café

yes she's waiting!
no she's gone done do into the Zodiac zoo!

I don't believe it saliva smudging blue paper
black silence ringing silence

white knight
not you too

you can't survive it
this poem it's for you!

that's nice mmmm her gaze wandered
across the poem across the tarmac

and the ferry left
oh oops

I missed my boat

There's a Lodge I know
Municipal Paint Opera lodge Café

105. ANOTHER ONE MORE MORE

the slurry in the water of the Black water river
into the slurry
into the dungeons down into
deep pools into holes
in the earth into tunnels underneath
the Municipal Paint Opera Lodge Café
down the stream
everyone with a loved one in a cosy gondola drifting
all drifting towards Black water bridge

wait your turn! wait your turn!
take your turn! take your turn!

things are falling apart an' that works on me

then done do shoes mud oh things are falling
from heaven earth

an' that works on me where is the lover of my life?
on the steps of the Municipal Paint Opera lodge Café?

yes she's waiting!
yes she's waiting!

yes she's waiting!

I don't believe it saliva smudging blue paper
black silence ringing silence

white knight

you too
you survive it

oh there is the lover of my life! oh on the steps
of the Municipal Paint Opera Lodge Café

oh sweet little white flower
maybe that's the reason why there are reasons

for things you know
how can you read when you start to write?

things are falling apart an' that works on me
then done do shoes mud oh things are falling

from heaven earth

an' that works on me
there is the lover of my life?

on the steps
of Municipal Paint Opera lodge Café

she's waiting
she's waiting

I don't believe it saliva smudging blue paper
black silence ringing silence

white knight

you too you too
you survived it

things are falling apart an' that works on me
then done do shoes mud oh things are falling

from heaven earth

an' that works on me
oh here is the lover of my life!

here on the steps of the Municipal Paint
Opera lodge Café!

she's waiting!
she's waiting!

maybe that's the reason why there are reasons
for things you know

how can you read if you start to write
waiting waiting writing reading

things into the waiting hall stark naked
beautiful oh so beautiful

oh on the steps don't worry on the steps
on the steps

106. ANOTHER ONE MORE MOREMORE

the sky is blue
the grass is green and the water

the water doesn't look like water
it looks like paint

nicam christi clear white paint
I can see clearly now

the background's blue
the words are white

the water is the water is as black as black tarmac
it doesn't look like water it looks like black black black

tarmac black paper

black walls Black water walls
black black water black paint

with smudges of white in it
oh blue white black

107. POEM SEVENTEEN BIS

there's paint in the water of Black water river it
is a slurry

at Hilvarenbeek the leaves fall
off

from the trees
it's a sunny afternoon

no cloud

the trees are wrong
it's the wrong season

they write about my poems
they read about my poems

naughty things very naughty things
with married women

and children
it's all lies lies lies

they tell lies lies
Roucher lies lies lies lies.

Other storytelling poetic sequences by Argo Spier

Bogy Road - A multi-levelled search into the essence of Wallpaper poetry and glimpses of the power and darker sub-conscious side of Necro poetica.
Sampel Four -Wallpaper poetry and Necro poetic seances, moving into the absurd with the printing out of wini.ini files as poetry.
Mucus Gravel - A compilation of sea and farmer poems, hilarious Wallpaper poetry and beautiful songs.
Raam - The only work in his mother tongue, the Afrikaans language; a Kubrickian space narration with translations of poems into various languages.
Municipal Paint Opera Lodge Café - Containing The Blackwater Stories, Wallpaper poetry and dreams.
Santa Christiana D'Aro - Wallpaper poetry and a brilliant and homely story.
Belim Tower Road - Wallpaper poetry, containing perfect illustrations of Necro Poetica, the resurrection of words already said and cold and the creation of fragile Vestalian sound poetry.
On the beach of Ville St. Gillis Croix de Vie - Miscellaneous and uncompleted.
Mister Page on Page International Airport - Miscellaneous.
A Lover's Sundae Sarum - Anniversary love poems.
Douche and Addition - Poetry and columns.
Zinzli came home Albi - Summer Poems from Chur.
Seasons of Sarum - Storytelling poetic sequences and a deep drive into Sarum.
Green Muse Trying - Columns and Storytelling Wallpaper poetry.

top

home

Old Hat and New Steel disclaimer contact.

glands

Old Hat and New Steel
disclaimer
contact.