Insomniac Lilies - They're something i tell You!

This was in that country-booze joint

The guy in front of me had loved someone

He was of my age

The guy beside me had grey stubble

There was a wall on the other side

It was painted blue once

But that was long ago.

Someone was puking behind me

The guy with grey stubbles

had tried the movies and the horses

‘Tough luck’, he said

He didn’t say much more

I could hear him fart.

The guy who had loved someone

And was my age

Pulled up his sleeves

And showed marks on his forearm.

I leaned against the wall

that once was blue

There was a pool of fresh vomit behind me

The flies were buzzing

I had a headache

The evening was bending my bones.

The Universe was caving in.

I paid my dues and walked out

And I entered the confectionary

that had glass doors.

I had a pastry

There was chocolate in it.

Outside,

a policeman was wiping his sweaty forehead

I could see him from behind the glass doors.

There was chocolate on my fingers.

…………………………………………………………………………………

Piranhas bite

The moon’s eyebrow

And horses drown

By my window

O the horses

Drown

By my window

I get up

I box with the sharks

I put the stars out

As the lost ones

Roam in forests

O the world is a gutted place

The world is the kingdom

of my brain

The world is the kingdom

Where it hasn’t rained

For a long long time.

Piranhas bite

The moon’s eyebrow

And horses drown

By my window

O the horses

Drown

By my window.

………………………………………………………………………………………………

They who run Brothels and Sanctuaries

And make money out of mayhem

Crooked revolutions turn them on

And their radios too.

The Beethovens and the Ali Akbars

Of the world, the Shelleys and the Lorcas too

With news of Bombed Cities

Raped children

Arson, Polygamy, Religious Incest –

Everything in a lump

A dead sorry mass of completion

And commencement

My friends,

Destruction is creation too

And

Attainment is shit. Abrupt endings

And unfinished journeys

necessitate wonder, as much as

Creation necessitates nonchalance

and madness necessitates tranquility

I whistled a few notes,

I’m not one for tunes, I love a nightingale or two

I love stories of giants with kind warm hearts

And losers who win when pushed too much

But we all love these, and we love the old

At times even more than the new

Like we love the black and white boobs

of Zsa Zsa Gabor a lot.

and yet we love all the numbness within cool mausoleums of parentheses.

It’s like looking out of the windows

And watching the splendid cows

Standing still

at midnight.

And listening to the owl

hooting from inside the heart

The owl has a soul of an oak

It’s all so damningly beautiful.

My tongue up the asshole of beauty

Right up to its sphincter.

………………………………………………………………………………………..

To return to the arms of poetry

When the night is burning all so terribly

Is like when I kissed a woman’s neck

For the first time

Thinking of the journey of light

Through monads dyads numbers lines et cetera et cetera

Too much of the same thought

The intellect smells of piss

No matter how much I wash, dry

or iron it.

Angels stripping before the mirrors

Butchers stripping flesh off the ribs

Doctors stripping beauty off terror

And Priests and Judges building walls between the two

Meteors ahh meteors

For god’s and for good old poetry’s sake

For sex’s sake,

For the sake of every tough motherfucker

Stop worrying about the warts

Stop thinking of how the world spins

Inside your belly, of witches and of tobacco

Everything put inside a mixer-grinder

Everything chewed and spitted out

Everything whiskey everything music everything everything..

Child, I’m kind hearted

I’ll give you the rose

That blooms inside my shredded gut

Every time it rains in autumn evenings.

There’s no conclusion to this

Just me in the arms of poetry

making endless love.

…………………………………………………………………………………………………

The Judgment had been passed

They were shouting out my name

Loud and clear

They were to hang me

I was out in the streets

Hoping to be small enough

to get unnoticed

The newspaperboy who would be the President noticed me first

And then the flowergirl who would be a nun

And then the old lady who was a pole-dancer once and who was on her way out of the madhouse

And then the hotelier who also invested on polyester and whose daughter had cancer in her blood

And so on

Before long

I saw a sea of raging people

Chasing me down

A mob in furor!

A temple on fire!

A declaration of war!

Something had burst out

Something had to have its say.

And so I ran for me life

And I entered the Treasury building

It was a busy place

Filled with cobwebbed people

Hidden behind sad cardboard files and sadder computers

The slender receptionist – she was in her late thirties

There was a red mole below her left ear

And a sunset on her face

I held her by her waist

and I planted a kiss on her timid shoulder-blade

She kissed me in my lips

It was a dry kiss –

Drier than the flowers on her desk

She held my hands and led me to the staircase

We had a quickie behind the stairs

It was dark and her cunt was throbbing

There was a lizard watching us from above

It reminded me of God

When it was all over,

I touched the outer rims of her pussy

With the forefinger of my righthand

And her lips with that of my other hand.

And then I pressed both the fingertips

Against my lips

I pulled my trouser up and zipped it

She pulled her thong up and flung her skirt down

She hadn’t uttered a single word all throughout the entire soiree

I promised her that I will send her postcards

with pictures of log-cabins by mountain streams

from wherever I will be.

She glided back to her desk –

silent, as before.

I started climbing up the stairs

The lizard was still watching me,

silent, as before

I took out my gun and blew its brains out.

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