MORE MUNICH POEMS

Anyway, it is a cold and bleak morning. I woke early and had to go out and buy a pack of cigarettes. I spent the evening in Nordbad, enjoying a warm soak and writing poetry on one of the little terraces there. I wrote a poem ´Pennymarkt´, something about Humphrey Bogart and all sheep having axes. Then a poem ´Bär´about the bär that recently crossed the Ostrreich Grenze (a fabled border), stuff about sheep Robespierre and Mutton Antionette and how the revolution of sheep had been defeated and centuries of sheep progress had been somehow put back and reversed. Bär Metternich appears as a tricorned counter-revolutionist. Then I fell asleep and counted bärs (or sheep). Sheep sadism and sheep S & M, countless sheep with black costumes and Florentine masks gilded and painted, all gathered in a strange castle, all performing lurid sex acts. I walk up to them and pull away their clothes and there are just sheep fornicating. Somehow they also had the faces of wolves, then they all ran away and I was alone in the castle and daybreak wasn't far off.

Then I was alone in my bedroom. I switched on the TV and all the usual middle of the night programmes. A pop video featuring an orange gorilla (have you seen it? hilarious?) and jackel-like creatures all lit up in neon colours singing the chorus. There´s something bizarrely expressionist about it, I think they´re using as an anthem for the WM.

Dirt is Good


Life is rancid cattle
Bending in the June breeze.
Hedgerows filled with plastic cutlery.
Lost gloves, olfactory smells.

Dirt is everywhere and dirt is good,
Says the soap powder ad:
Dirt, death, disease, poverty,
Famine, pestilence, plague, war, genocide

Are good, says the soap powder
Spokesperson. Myriad Madonna

Madonna of the senses, Madonna
Of soap powder: descend and fornicate
With the soap powder spokesperson.
Bed him, give him ultimate fellatio,
Sit on his gross cock, jism of breaking bedspring
Part your vaginal lips, suck all of him

Down into your fecund ovaries.
Make him part to part.
Airfix man, glued yet separate
Flick a switch, fill him with electricity.

Soap powder ovulation
Blacker now than sea salmon, monkey sweat
Glands of heron, herring nosewing
Flowing over your canonical observation tower.

Flay him, part him: lit man bogged downwards
Telling everday lies printed on everyday boxes.


In the Weinstraße


Morbid penny poem:
See the large women become squat
See them ride camels through mazes
See their top hats glimmer in the sunset.

Candy coloured demon clowns snorting coke
Seize me and drag me into their van
Make biological observations, beg for sex

Mmm happy days indeed....

Showing me a projected film history
Illustrate the highpoints of my life
A surreal chimera or broken dandelion
Am riding my bike through the hedgerow

But it was merely the demon clowns.
They´ve gone now, backchat from the talking clock.

A videoed projection in dreamtime
Descending. I wake up. The moon is full.
Riding to its zenith. Jim Morrison would have said
Mooncock. But it is merely the moon.

Hollowed rotund orb flung into the rosebowl night.
Bowl of candy coloured demon clowns snorting coke
All clinging onto the craters
Fingering the moon´s first thought.


Pennymarkt

´First thought, best thought´ – Alan Ginsberg

Wearing my new nosewing:
Altercation checkout
Fistfight: I hand over
Five euroes. Mania
As my five former lives
Black livid umbrella rose,
Mantic in the rear view mirror.
I see you now, Humphrey Bogart
The sheep all have wings,
Are waiting with axes
Behind your back projected
Twenty piece suit.


Bär


Paradise postponed decrees sheep Robespierre
Cake not bread baas Mutton Antionette
More sheep to sheep speak later
A tricolour waved at each sheeped barricade

More than 200 years after the revolution
A bär crosses the Östrreich Grenze.
Seven sheep meet their personal Waterloo
Now is time to turn and turn

Again, for revolution, war, revolution, war
Each bär is killing and killing sheep
History is history is history is history
History is cycle in sheep-shaped world.