all the street trees know Leo
he's pissed them from seed
to urban sequoia
Leo wails at the tick-tock people
waving his cane
no shame
to his stench or phallus
hanging from his crotch
like rotten fruit refusing to wither

come Friday
Leo shaves his head
all the humanoid trash
swarm the street
sporting their leather clap
all the platinum boy/girls
turn on a snap
fake tear at the lap
Leo has a night cap

there's a cobble-street off the market
where all the half-tailed cats
and all the fruit bats gather
i've got an alcohol stench off
the cobble-street bench
failing at rhythm on my notebook
stumpin' my pen
to contour Leo
willowing with cane on axis
leg all stuck in a street pail
he trips over his walking stick
n' puddles in to the cobble-stones
over easy
waiting to mass Saturday morning

with so much to offer
my tentacles feel numb
no plankton around
i might be in the wrong ocean
i might be the wrong fish
refer to things by their names
energies ambitions and places

the city gives me gas
the busses make me rash

i'm closing ten years of Tel Aviv
madness
black collar jobs white collar mobs
sexual encounters colorful
my name precisely at the tone i goaled
well know by well-known
unknown by un-known
my character recognized
by the close few not family
i've grown distant
i've paid too many parking tickets
i've bought too many toothbrushes
too many shower curtains
i've changed too many dealers

and though
i've never been robbed
i feel that nothing is mine

ten years and
objects in mirror are
closer than they appear

i can see their motherhood
as the waves breastroke to shore
i've got my imports lit
with a half foreign look
drawing the locals' attention
foreigners nod in understanding
classical music by the beach
classical if you grew up 'round here

the fire hydrant women
take their outdoor showers
taking full advantage
of deteriorating order
on this sunny January morn'
cracked eyes can detect
chaos in the sky
like at these people 'round here
all shining with their teeth

but! no mask to crack
can hide the fact
of chaos from mine
and every cloud that passes
chills them all to sweaters and socks
and the mist it freshens us all regardless


leisure girls
tall and carnal
shade me
my thoughts
wander through them
from shade
to light
i'm attracted
to my waiter
he's bearded
and warm blooded
all yang to me

riding on the passenger side
through a gagged community
portraits of poets
peep from undershirts
my troubled mind in motion
through the red light of law
taxi cabbing America
my only auto-motive

i dream i'm chased
raced around
changing worlds
brutes of night
with clubs
table nubs raised
at me in anger
and revenge

my nights
are mumble
tumbled words
i hear as sirens
repeating
to change me

a mare in the night
seems so fare in the light
and ugly is such a beautiful word

i got the cock of the devil in my left hand
i got the balls of the lord in my right hand
in my teeth i got the clit of the Mother man
i eat the soil with a spoon and starve the land

i got the dagger that Jagger put to Bowie

i got the apple from a snake in a fist fight
i stole the staff that halved the Dead sea
i hold the quill that Khalil wrote of arabs too
my fingers twiddle at her majesty's bee

i got the dagger that Jagger put to Bowie
i bribed January to be so snowy
i write of love and hate the love of writing
i interrogate children at u.f.o. sightings

life's a whore
born to rich folk
refusing to sponge
running to the garage
making money
off the neighbor
suckin' on a dog
so long as it's wrong
life's a whore
in fish net panties
catching up dolphins
on the way to shore
life's a whore

it's the hour of killers
and alien breeders
it's the hour of update
and reconstitution
to justify rape in the work place
to leave room for mass suicide
and to underline freedom
of speech and media
they've got shit in their teeth
and privacy's wreath
they've got blood on their pens
and on their camera lens
respect is lost
and i pity this world
for waking me early
to realize wrong

i pity you all
left to nothing
discriminated
by your own soul
left invisible
your clay brain a spit bucket
your trade hands disposable
your dick tucked up your ass
as so not to offend
perched up a McDon's sign
weather-cock to the world

my generation isn't
high on smoke
they're on powder
chemical chowder
smiles aren't
baby laughs
they're kicked over frowns
highs so clear
it hurts to come down
everyone i know
fucks on ecstasy
works on coke
dances on acid
cowards
lick a socket
slam your dick in a door
party on that
i have

i have been watching you
fucking you high
jolted corpses on power supply
try Jamaica style
look at the blacks
move their ass
see that wine
up and down
cocks dangle
nipples popp
you can do that
again and again
and again
all night
and every night
for the rest of your life
see that wine

stacks of photographs
stained by bottom glass
where have you been
Benjamin

children boxed in sand
stained by ice-creamed hands
just like we had seen
Benjamin

our love is wide
we ride away on
daydreams and sunbeams
hide under wings
of waves
our waves

our love is wide
as tide rolls to a crash
over our lashes
and washes our love
wide

little cuts
go unnoticed
and our love is wide

tuning
she needs tuning
she's out of key
can't you see
i can't play her anymore

broken
she needs mending
her body cracked
i can't take her back
there are pieces on the floor

sunshine
she wore sunshine
on her fingers
and on her toes
i undressed to feel her clothed

moving
she needs moving
moving 'round the world
moving like a girl
moving where i won't follow

chance
by chance
the day like life
is a route
i shoot
i roll
waiting
for the flower girl
to come out the shower
we haven't met in a year
last time
i was on top
i almost got caught

now
she's living
out of town
got a garden
and a cat
i'm out on her porch
lighting
my roll off the torch
lit in the grass
wind carries
the smell of gas
waiting
for the flower girl
to come out the shower
to douse her body
from within
in flowers and in gasoline

dancing around music
elbows high knees high
alone in the north dancing
streams streaming
i'm shitting
sun falls and breaks on my neck
water drinks my mouth
i feel i've sturdied in my time here
i know my ties have loosened in the city
my ties haven't fastened in the country
ties are less needed here
my stomach knows we're leaving
my hands feel the mud peeling
my lungs hyperventilate the freshness
before diving into the smog
morning hard-ons are rare
for me out here

grey on green

country morning in camouflage

i don't ever remember

being awaken by birds

in the city

birds are food

Kid Pistol was born a razor blade
to White Badfather
on the day of Memory March
Nig Thomas was Kid's older friend
they'd carve their own picks
and hunt caravan tits
out in lands of cows and hens
Nig and Kid were ramblers

all about their land was near as hand
from gas to market
from barber to butcher
from school to penitentiary
was a shoe toss

it really wasn't easy
to get lost in ramble
yeah, but Nig and Kid
knew their way
well enough to lose it...

i've been on keyboards for so long
my hands reach for stones as though crystals
he grabs stones entire palm wrist fingers
lets go and again
grasping entire palm wrist fingers
chucking them to truck
steadily with ease
i mimic feeling brutal violent
there is power in these rocks power in my hand
immediate nature hits me with force and conquer
i could off him with one shot
immediate nature bubbles inside me
kneeling i fist grass pebbles mud
ancient cow shit
kneeding ground as i rock forward
earth trips from finger tips to bone
ancient sensation washes me with dirt
cleaner than any air i've ever breathed
i rock down ostrich head to ground
arse to sky it smells like shit
it is shit
all ground is shit
and shit is good

through ground i hear him
like a beckoning cloud
i pull out dripping
sand and pebbles from face
his voice like sky clears
"you lazy fuck! get up!"
it's his luck i bathed in mud
and hadn't a stone in my hand
all ready