Hailstorm in Chalon

breezing outta the upstairs changing room hair blowing, scented like a slowed down music video radio station static tout droit wire's in a coeur corner head hail: made up arriving at the station ax wound weeping I'll palm the patch before piscine a pig (not dio) a shaved man on a run down road eating a bunch of grapes an apple (balled by a melon) it's obvious that my feet aren't in politics unless your set lips cause allergies

Table For... You?

Table for two?

No.

One.

One more

Hit wonder

One liners

Born every minute

Une nuit

Yeah, one piece

Suit for sharing

One eyed jacks

And up

In a million

One on one

One off

For all

An eye or shoe

Pair of pearls

Where's my shoe?

One pound

Of prickly pears

One egg missing

A room

One way

Cul de sac cunt

No return

1 above

Above none

You

Not some

ça dépend des goûts

the test subject's testosterone tested and reported By a radio reporter Baubo busted down a bathroom door to show us her with her panties down the moss missing on the garden pond so simply cut this out and put it with the cache: a pillow under my head sit down hand tying and not typing up bad hand writing (what would Mr.English think?) pull the top back put the hood down and remind me what i recovered from there's a crash in a desert of desserts and stressed recipes the almost given up going east vocal stomach song ass bursting nerves (not on sale in a butcher's display) toilet pep talks and I know in advance this is an advantage i should hold don't show the cards a bella figura in blue night my hands in my cuffs covering hers not buzz beyond content at the joint the symbol and wrapping and my craned neck lips to back to tits to the barcode butterfly The most glorious thing I've witnessed without hallucinating the firmness and nearness the adultdress nightdress tights under top my tshirt panties all had to be removed while i covered up the mind and towards the end i didn't deter i kept on and though she may not have thought that'd be the first thing I'd do as it's not that often but it was clear in my cloud head and that shows an interest a comfortable side to my patina and my difference

Sea Legs

As he packed up Leaving behind remnants and cobwebs And tenancy dust We broke this bed: Support straps snapped The map of France flopped Ships in the sea The legs gave way.

Tourists at Petit Dejuner

All showered, shitted and shaved Armpits, pussies, legs Men in denim Shorts and shirts (all with hair) At 7 a.m there's no one Younger than me I'm on concentrated juice And coffee, no sugar They stack plates: Ham, jam, pastries How saccharine These couples that have Curled and cuddled As I curdle without G My guarantee I can't help from looking outside We get a taxi to the airport And abandon We don't book Or research We go where we see A sea from a room I get up and groom Clip and nip and lay On marble Waiting for a breakfast Of honey Ham and sugar.

LIPSINKING

These are lyrics to cervelle musique (avec ou sans capers) I'm in Seville kicking peeled orange skins At pigeons that don't know where Worms wiggle. My kidless kidneys dance On the other foot The white robe worn Is a hotel bathrobe My hand in my pocket Feeds snails named Alanis and Anaïs Who else: Henry Miller. And after Plucked from the garden Fucked into a brown bucket To shit it all out: A detox for death to be delectable. My pupils have been lessoned Regarding this photo of us It opens my pours I'd swear on the heart of Christ If i'd jamais met 23 versions of your shape And look my search would constantly Be to try and find a switch to finger Not a trigger But you are A floodlight.

Licking Out Logarithm

Your Da sends you a picture, Of your camera, Post quake, what scale And I think of (though you haven't asked) sniffing the ravine's curve, diving into you on the Costeria Amalfitana, demain demons, Frizzante bottles In the fridge of a Rented room by a freddo sea as seagulls shit and scrounge. The discovered city's clitty, semi dry holy wine and cantucci, Che figa, the cissy chapel, the mortadella bella, lumache l'amore, the letto macchiato, meravigiosa meals In our hotel, And the headline hangovers that vanish in fume lava and ash As I eat gnocca for breakfast- the paper unread, coffee cold, the dog huffing, by the closed door.

Lean In

You've pondered, that's plunder Too much thinking, Thinking 'bout thinking, Me thinks Meta, Fuck off you. A red carpet stroll, Casual capsule, Catspulted and crowbarred. I'm funny too: Jaded in gaol Gloves in the toilet bowl Fingers wrapped 'round cold bars covered in cocoa. A jug raised (to us), With slick sangue of a hare; My key pulled out of a stomach And left to be rained on.

Bukowski, this must have happened to you.

And you sit there in the kitchen low lighting and cigar butts smoldering and a woman on your lap and one on the phone in the bathroom to her dealer and the typewriter covered with cloth or a bed sheet when the one from the bathroom returns she turns the television set on (bending over you admire the shape of her rear and she drops an earring and crawls around so you rise at the sight of her tits) and you see a cheaply made show but the volume is down and you see me on a busted bed with wet red blood not from a frog not from a self harm wound and she's letting out oxygenated laughing thinking it's cum but who cums menstrual malade chiens barking as furniture moves around the womb (hit the ceiling with a phallic broom) who cums a city's artificial lights? I'm not phased by the mania (of course, this feeds a mania) It's the glory of showering off réglé at 4 a.m on a Saturday as the 7 million eggs you were born with diminish and soak into a bed we get back get back in to.

The City Between Her Legs Is Not Verona

Otherwise I'd be leccatura The same stone already had By Montague And the dog would be white As opposed to That one that's following me And sniffing at my crotch We'd be bronze With an aura... borealis Vetivert introvert Meets a Taurus flower And like back garden children Chewing and scratching this été We bite the ripened apple On the grass

tout ce qui brille n'est pas

'Men lie about that Spoonful' Howlin' Wolf Paillettes faces from tenants past in East proper as this myriad eyed thing with wings watched me do things That were done before (you know where) an after a.m lunge the huddle in underwater underwear no prospects to prosper couldn't sift the sugar on a full chest But spoons in that sink light down A camera clean up rying to find a hole or a whole window in a home for this frustrating mess something from Meet the Applegate's or another similar 50's horror

Bon voyage

Remember rappeler use the city you live in as if you were on holiday- visit the parks the theatre go tour go ists debate dates Call upon the lipstick saint esprit live cheap avoid sleep the stay home Baby bubble is not eggs and caviar cooked by Guérard cull crap suck sap between branches listen to those accidental/suicid écoute to those who have almost died and plan on getting into prescription painkillers see: darvon vicodin Oxycontin 40 Dilaudid tramadol écoute to vomit choking carl crack delirium tremens loose pubes hydrocodone headphones self inflicted insults overboard verbose overdose anti depressant presents b. a. l. - 36% drown gowns peeping sills peered over yards Seconal supermodels sprouting suggestive schiap nars Coked out country collisions Buttes Chaumont birthday boy benching barbiturates (not dying in Bernett's) this is an alphabet autopsy the report: possible Atherosclerosis /aspergers asphixia onanism.

drôle

When one was labelled
Funny - see drôle
The ingredients
Read:

Mustard powder 1/2 tsp
Salt liberal
Pepper to taste
A case of Bourgogne Blanc
Three caffe corretto's
A child's skull
Fly's on fishing rods
One (unused) copy of Men's World
Celine's Diary
The gum seat
A woman stuck up a tree
A handful of stones
Tinned Anchovies rinsed
Lilliput Capers
Chitterlings
Flour to dust
Butter soft

A pan big enough to fit a cupboard cunt.

Reste

At dinner in another's home
Coded in to the reste of Christmas

The tenant before hadn't pulled
The blinds up for 30 odd years

He gave me a stewed lapin head
The jaw gave way in my palm
I sucked the langue

As she bit hers
And asked again

Où es-tu?


Post wine cheminer:
The city's seal unglued
Spread on the Blvd Clichy

De Attrait

Down Metro Louvre-Rivoli
There's glass benches
And up there on hot rue's:
Topless drunks
Misogynist cabine's
Morrison's expatriate hangout
Ghost writers drinking from haunted
Cocktail glasses at Pont Royal
Algerian socks
Eyes bar
Styrofoam snails
The Baci marche where P.P
Bought still life apples
Beef cheeks lettuce heads and
snacks
L'hotel where Wilde popped
And passed
On Mouffetard
Ernest got ossified and wrote about men
Without women.

Rezo

Dolled and tuned
Check
Through a wind


Bills building unsettled
Sheltered I chose
Thick sopa and two bottles


The place had started
Saints had already listened
To south American rezo's


But for another's sake
They couldn't put
That part on a common map


Two different directions
East arrow faltering
Before a set


This was why they thought
The world was round...

A gate over her décolletage
Fitted in fabrics
Melody puppetry


Those cinema scenes
Where they don't speak
And your head eats itself


I should of skipped the casting
Fired the agent
And gone dressed as a dog


When a chanteuse sees
These soft pupils curl
In a heavy tête


They compose.

Escape Map

This was written at the Picasso Musée and was published two years ago.


Pablo, when my knife
Peels fruit skin,
There’s subliminal Spain
And Paris before,

This century played people.
Women,
Gathered knocking,
For a kiss.

We have hands, round heads
Busy producing coloured
Shapes of
deliberated choice.



Before lunch,
Down Rue des Grands Augustins,
I waited where you created,
What hangs on Madrid.

Tell me, did erotic ombre’s
Posses you not going dry?

Stuffed strong,
Forward desire,
Cools by controlling
Relief in percentages.

A Horde

A painting is a horde
Of destructions
Said Pablo Picasso

And I stay here with
Whore's deconstructing
The constructions

The cellar door
Booted in
By an El Paso Jailbird
On a large charge

Finger finding a switch
But no hits

Her photoed tits
Post shower cop off
Hairdryer plugged in
Bunched towel

The kids back from the monkey run
This time I shower
And feed them change

And from under covers
She tells the eldest to straighten
The painting
Ties shoes
Let the hound out

From this bathroom window
My dog chases 'em

She shouts in
The cellar's got guests again
I know they're back

They will chirp
Cheep chirrup.

Padre Nuestro

Dolled and tuned
Check

Through a wind

Bills building unsettled
Sheltered I
Chose sopa and two bottles

The place had started
Saints had listened
To south American rezo's

But for another's sake
They couldn't place
That part on a common map

Two different directions
East arrow faltering
Before a set

This was why they thought
The world was round:

A gate over her décolletage
Fitted in fabrics
Melody puppetry

Those cinema scenes
Where they don't speak
And your head eats itself

I should of skipped the casting
Fired the agent
And gone dressed as a dog

When a chanteuse sees
These soft pupils curl
In a heavy tête

They compose.

Laying on hands (Not of)

Getting sniffed
And seen through glass

The bolt
Or mad surge

Take a stance:

Knees on the floor
Mains together

Virgin Maria?
Santo Antonio?

The weight of waiting.

For That Year

Fitzgerald full stopped at 44
With coco covered mains

Smudged prints on the Princeton Review-

Big Scott got $13.33
The year before

And Ernie
The hardheaded prick
Couldn't make it to his wake

So Francis Scott
In death
You received
What you asked
But couldn't see

That one you had thought
Had fucked off

Fame.

The rope in my mouth

Not the ginger red tom cat
Not the railway nazi
Or boozy Bardolph's rose nose

Not a donor - blood or sperm
Organ
Related to ripped royalty
Reverse to my perversions

Not typing in a Cuban bar
Renting a shack
A capricious dog owner

Not knocking over milk glasses
Moving to Nassau
Penetrating virgin's
In their 20's

Not a dab hand
A silver bullet
Accelerating behind the wheel
Of a '78

Not behind tinted windows
Blasting 'The Chronic'

Not roped into
Fallopian tubes
Daytime drinks
Doing reps
(Lie)

Afraid to get laid
While hitchiking
Jump into a 18ft deep pool
(Lie)

Not there
Respond through text
Callus Calls

20 or eaten
By stomach worms

Not eligible
or legible
Brazen
Or at the school gate

Not idol
or residing in birth

Not in pictures
or numbers
Maybe through
medical histoire

Not fluent
Or what they could
Sense.

Beware

The window boxes of Paris

The overwatered soil drops

Mashed into rues

Topor’s landlady

The Metro bums

Bats shacked up

Under Hôpital Broussais

Parle in a guinguette

You visit others in air flight

And the nouvelle France café

Transforms into a noodle bar

They don’t want you

In the plm hotel

And this blvd is part of

A Maze.