THE LOVE SONG OF ALFRED KITSCHAWK
Let us go then, do and die,
(and do and die and do
and then deny)
Where and when never ending why
Revenge of the I against the eye
Against the gains of metaphorical retreats
That Spread the “The”
Just like empty sheets of clouds
Epiphanise the gesture, looking for the
Sky and finding skiing, finding Bee Gees guy
In Finding Nemo. Where catcher in I is spared
Against the sparrow in the eye
And evening is paired
With grayeyed ladies,
Hours of rumors prove the women in rooms, phoning,
Talking of Michelangelo Antonioni.
Burst of things in a dream of explosion
Poses as real:
Relevance of evil elevation in a Soap opera,
In phony manhood of peasants.
The outlaws are patient,
Flaws of silent selling out
Are redefining freedom,
And more boredom we beat,
More leather we sit on…
And indeed, there will be time.
To write for the retired foolls wonderfully
There will be tiny Myth of Why
When I bare my pray:
“Must I die, to write, today?”
And I have known the nouns that already died trying
To be ready as verbs, noun them all-
Brave in reverb, everlasting everblue
Etherised poetry awaits measuring
The eye of a beholder with coffee spoons
I like the smell of palms in a Mourning.
The army isn`t waiting. The arm's palm itself
That cannot open the pages of newspaper
Kissed by the fresh print, to be opened later,
But never read, never really red, never really grown
Into Stereo mountains. Fresh meat of facts
Is fucking a poem, being ready to kill for the
Rendered remembering, like lies suck out
The truth from Memoirs. Form of a memo
Looking rootless in the morning,
Freeing the libertine free press fee
From Alberti bass of cheap embarrassment.
Hours of rumors prove the women rooms, phoning,
Talking of Michelangelo Antonioni.
Now press *.
I go go I go go, I go, girl, to go go
High halls of High heels High hopes of High peaks
Of song on broken speakers.
I am not high.
I shall swear I do not remember. I sell
My dare to a shivering attention: notions of
Giving, vigorous adjectives, it is impossible
To say what I don’t mean,
Fluid as a dilettante,
Led as a tale's tail,
And solidly stubborn
As a young death on a balcony:
Must I play, to write, today?
I am not mine. So, am I mean?
Though I have seen my head
(going slightly mad)
I have seen the moment of my greatness weaken
On twitter, I have seen it all, I have seen it, but
I should say in return that this is not what I meant at all
When I meant All in a mental hospital. This is naughty,
I know, I know, I know now, but then…
To say. I am Lazarus, come from the dead,
Look at my lovely bones, smell it, kiss it, kill.
Wasn’t it shameful form of parole, wasn`t it?
And turning toward the word: window
I have to turn to Duchamp in Windows, Dos.
I have to turn. I have to turn on
Onions restless whiteness,
Slow angels breath
Rented to academics,
To Hamlet’s Telemach,
To the purest adjectivness of being.
I begin to pay attention to
Things of self,
I should have been a payer of reggae crew
Transforming the low incomes of newcomers
Into logical ontology of
And softer I become,
The braver I look.
Our phony illusions. Our
I grow gold… I grow gold…
But the gold
Lies with the help of urine rush
Hushing the tail to be tailored
And me to blush, swearing that
My trousers are mine.
Arouser condoms as a mode for enough.
I should have been a conservative swinger,
Giving lessons of self preservation, forgetting
That the fortune is not
In fine tuning.
I have had my time for being stubborn to ask
Why Geography lies in metaphors,
Subtle and stubborn as digital watches
Grown in wrists
As stereo never grown in Montenegro,
Where the mountains rest in let it be
Convenient convexity of a Boutique logic,
Where the tinyshoulder leader is eating peach, thinking
Impeachment is impossible. I am nearly a king.
I do not think they will sin against me.
I want to believe (ingenious phrase)
They want to be lied to, in phases. I want to be real
As an allusion to see them part from my heritage,
In a morphine guilt.
We have laundry lady dead in the chambers
The sea gulls eating our remains by the sea-girls
Still humming voice,
In a cave,
In a dawn.
Originally written in English