Song Lyrics by A.J. Kaufmann (originally published 2010)

20171006_143750 (2)We Don’t Dance

We creep past the U-bahn, bend under lights
Sleep in the cafes, sentimental dives
Keeping what is ours always in plain sight
Virus of our liver, sugar of your eyes
Speed all over shady alleys, slow real tide
Life is not just rhythm, death is not a chance
This is why we’re underground
Writing when you dance – and we, we just
Romance – revolution’s trance – the Dalai Lama
Whorehouse, general’s fireplace

Raja’s Blues

You know Raja’s got the backbone, got the frontbone too
He got blood of alligators and a case of hoochie-coo
And he’s pale like morning sunlight, faster that any known light
Sounds good without any amps, fake reasons to survive
White volume and electric keyboards will never crowd his floor
Smaller than an ant, much greater than the world

Raja’s got one morning ahead of you and yours
All you’s got are curtains, he controls the doors
Domino demons in action, carpenters of fact
Seldom shares of kindness say that Raja’s love’s a mess

Change food for corny daggers, originals can’t confess
Consciousness of guilty paralyzed with death
Fear sleeps in your rearview mirror, where Raja takes a rest
Bathed in bubbled certainties, fortunes of your wooden vests

Raja’s got ladies by a million talking and walking the blues
He learned it before you painted him white, or repaid his sacred dues
You can pay for Raja’s thoughts later, after he’s done with atomic clouds
And former space age clowns

Dancing with the Early Stars (Me, You, Ah Pook)

I can’t stop, I’m never waiting, never wondering how or why
Living like a firecracker, dancing with the early stars
If I had another promise, if we had another land
Hopeless, cruel and wasted angels climbing up the human grave
Wings of panic, sounds of shelter – undemanding desert calls
Hear her wisdom, hear the ages – to the highway’s end you go

I can’t stop you, I can’t teach you, I can’t be your midnight guide
Cannot take you to the night’s den – hungry lions suck in your sight

Desire is vision is god, the theater, the actor, the eye
Stage dust settles down, performance is passion is blood
Me, you, Ah Pook

Ghost Bus

Take the tenement trail they’re already razing down
And the streetcars that once rode there disappeared without a sound
But one bus stop still exists, it’s a night line no one takes
Through the districts now forgotten where no neon dares to flare

You can say it’s just a ruin but there’s people all around
And the children they once raised there lost the war in ’45
Now just one bus line remembers all the ups and downs of town
It’s a shame that no one rides it when the districts’ birthdays come

So the ghost bus it could take you where no human dares to walk
And the driver he could show you how the nighttime’s engine works
While the ghost town that you witness was once crowded with young life
Lovers ran through bright lit bridges now collapsed and lost in time

Now there’s only ugly buildings filled with echoes circling round
Now there’s only ugly buildings filled with echoes circling round

Only in Your Mind

Strange as it seems, I’m only what you think I am
Weird as it is, I’m standing where the sun god stands
And if I had his might there’d be no nights upon our heads
But bright immortal stars
Would fill the depths of Milky Way
Shade exists
Only in your mind
Light exists
Only in your mind
Death exists
Only in your mind
Life exists
Only in your mind

3 poems from „The Golden Elephant”, originally published 2012.

20140102115“Word Drone”

communication
whirling
tube-lights hum
under
low breathing
streets
open fire now
wind for volumes
speaks
white noise
without human
pure
impersonates speech
interrupts contemplation
electrocutes
exclamation
marks
spread all over town
fragile
points of
reference
turn up speech
hurl away noise
shake highest buildings
recede to valleys
of lateral
dead word
between Allen & Archimedes
let there be no
tombstones

“Parabolic”

sit in
be in
glass office (bleach alchemical sky)
a head
bowed in improvement
palms
giving no scent (cancerous cells ablaze)
nostrils
obsolete
vines
crates
where we sat
ironic
chairs – conquistador
ships
crescent faces
burning
heat up our
activity
dehydrated
pawns
past hours of work:
deal & omen
throbbing
likeminded single collars
changing colors fast
the doctor would like to see you
leave
you are now allowed

“Bass Riff #9”

you did
you would
of were
in here
pause still
anxiety
agent passengers

void up
your stare
the scourge
the earth
I could
run miles
across
incapacity
now my diamonds

obedience
at will
an oval
appeared
sun creatures
plan weeks
was tense
so to speak
distinguishing away