Tag: poem
“Ghost of Dusk in a Pastel Shell”
(for Lou Reed)
w/ a hint of melody, pinia, delicate torture: A
Am Am7 A7
descending; mirror ghost of kings
slits the green line
park; duke
of plastic airdrops.
tutors, lambs and highways
drift the saddest Sunday
on the way to school
oceans shambles
I’m sipping gin receiving news
tears stop on the shelf
filled w/ Lou’s records & French poetry
love’s face, crossed in a punk fashion
looks up
to the rain of tomorrow.
I bought you cheap, she thinks to herself
& w/ soap under her nails
she starts writing
the great american romance
w/o the dead narrator
piano shyly lays down
the chords & structure of twisted
moans and mourns of a twilight
once crossed on a NY reel
of villains, pale subjects
to salvation; not escaping this time, sifting
w/ the uptown stink
demands the town to curl
like a wounded cat
in the back seat of a Chrysler.
take one, puffing smoke into the mic; sprachgesang
of insects. hard heavy breath, eliminated
suturing milk and sunrise
into quality chrome
& ash – suddenly stripped like a graveyard –
of giant city skyline
inbred, brave – preset to life
inlay of skull & marching soldiers
on white/grey dots in print
comb bind w/ logic
death merely passing – streets – face – root beer
& junk nirvana for Joey
I guess I lost it
this Sunday, ghosts of empty dusks
crown my idiot self fish
morphing to heavenly hearth
one w/ the raven angel
& I can’t make love to you today
no, not in chains
of fury’s disciplined winter
death cold Germanic
away from forms of speech
over gut guitar of Jesus
strumming that heroin pattern
all through the desolate mourning
sleepless choirs of snowflakes.
which words were yours, heard in the backseat
alley, unspeakable hurt
humiliation – there is no succumb but your ego –
demon seed of subways
pushing junk on same corners
back to 1980s, crackheads, models, art scene
recalling the hum of blues
from every train passing
& every river flowing; dirty sunshine…
…now variable, pregnant, important
words which were mine
belong to her; the romance
she’s writing now, the child she wants to raise
the street she wants to walk
without sad songs & 3 euro breakfasts
with whom? without.
once the hero’s gone
once the plot loosens
in the bright light thick solid wall
you’ll crash your brains
on piercing whiteness
thinking it’s too late
receiving a call from your teenage mother
you’ll realize
you’ve reached the side of angels
time to join them, & her, in sickening warmth
lose the conscious dictator drill
w/ a bang enter the realm of fury breeding art
in a pastel relic shell
Foreign Calm
Beautiful sobs
Rooms like a girl
No need for your self-sacrifice
Go out to the river
Misfortunes now turned
Turn down into foreign calm
As a matter-of-fact
We’re slightly skeptic for you
Foreign calm, don’t look at the world
Everything’s untrue
I’m having my breakfast
I’m trusting these days in
Some eggs, strong coffee and cheese
Go out to the river
Misfortunes now turned
You’re glancing at vague mysteries
As a matter-of-fact
We’re slightly skeptic for you
Foreign calm, don’t look at the world
Everything’s untrue
Little old mistress
With clear blue eyes
Your ragged strangers arrive
Beautiful sobs
Call for your bells
Now down into foreign calm
Au revoir, so long
Next year it’s Paris or Rome
Some distance before you
More distance behind
Death touched your side so rapidly
But now you’re held safely
In rooms like a girl
You look out the window and see
Foreign calm everywhere
Au revoir, so long
Someone arrives, someone checks out
That’s how the memory goes
Idols of Your Mind
Somebody somehow has got to go somewhere
Somebody somehow will see
Another somebody pointing at something
The door to fantasy
The light to set you free
See the fool at the altar
See the bee at the flower
See the rain having a hard time
See the madman taking a shower
And you know you’ve gone beyond
The idols of your mind
At the stained-glass cemetery
They’re resting with your time
Take your time
Everything’s of soap you say
The buildings, the people, the cars
Put your finger thru it and say
What made you go this far
Everything you need right now
Is a pretty little girl
Plastic minds walking plastic rounds
In the gowns of slavery
Somebody somehow has got to invent you
If you don’t exist anymore
Time and meaning, illusions you’re dreaming
Burning with the gold
And you know you’ve gone beyond
The idols of your mind
At the stained-glass cemetery
They’re resting with your time
Take your time
The Festival
You’re a star child roaming free
You’re the song of life
…
Speak the truth and glow like sun
Get rid of ego’s pride
…
we gathered here to sing and harvest soul, freedom where wings of it exist
in retroidyllic dreams
on love’s white tide over acid skies
naturally garden high
skull highway to the sky
…
from freedom in our skulls, slipping from the stage we’ve built
jumping from Jupiter sky – down…dawn on sunset
in our hair, brilliant spheres, down, to photographic rain
half a million people danced, or more, beautifully stoned
but no one’s really there
or was where
we dared to dare
sift
phonographic sands
with butterfly brains
…
Join us here in pearls of rain –
you’ll never be the same
…
Pity sad souls wasting daybreak
For pain are they to blame
…
in freedom’s dream and love’s white tide we began to sing
of mountains cold’s live days’ galore
where everything was green
cops memorized a million deaths
we survived before
may no fear invade your heart
even when you walk alone
…
younger, bolder, truer than
all the old lies we’ve been told
no need for new revolutions
at the festival
…
no price tags on clear blue sky
sun bonfire or a pyre
find your own Satori there
in it thunderous morning skulls
conspire
Via Kosmische 