Ginsberg In Berlin
Ancient poetic edifice of incomparable genius and humility -- Gisnsberg in Berlin
He yells about his anus
He sings about the sins of cigarettes
He's got this rock'n'roll accordion, been all over the damn world: old monument box
Brown
Tattooed with sticky international patches and Band-Aids, and scratches, and worn out parts, and softening edges of old wooden case of rock'n'roll accordion
An integral part of his body
A parody of the worn out parts of him
An extension of his soul
A perfect thing of age, like ancient Roman rotten honey drink
Flexible too, like veteran old anus
Guts
Once upon a time, guts
Pain in the guts
Gut knife wound, sharp horror blade of laughter
Butterflies in the guts
In love
Love out
Guts made of in and out
Guts empty, empty guts, hungry, opened cavities in your cave of pain guts, toothpaste on the holiday of your iron guts
You are you and me, are her and him, night, and day in night, what part of the long nothing do you find something inside the perplexing teeth growing in your toothless mouth
Guts, green guts, belly burgers, and meat loaf of guts
I took your lips from your elbows, and made email monopoly of beans for 9.99
Thanks for giving me guts
I got guts now
I be like a soft strong-ness
Guts be tasty
Chicken Bones Of Delusion
Body perspiring, but sweat not like salt: sweet like sugar. Yet sweet sweat not salt, not nothing like it
No
Something else
Inexplicable
Connected to the soul receptors
Something like an ocean
Me, dissolving into a great candy blue ocean like a stale sugar cube into a sweet, sticky fluid
And then I begin to drip like drops of rain
Down into the rubbish
Lost amongst the plastic, the bones, cat hair, forsaken love letters
Missing between the pages of pulp fiction
Sniffing out the wild cat
A house built from the forsaken chicken bones of delusion...
What to be at all
Lovely to be in cold warmth in blue comfort of icicles
Lovely to be in center of all orientation, yet nowhere at anytime or place like me in space, and what the hell is space at all
Lovely to be icicle chewing gum, stuck to sticky wad in the space between the center of all orientation
Lovely to be in icicle space of blue orientation in the center at anytime of space, of the teeth in the frozen blue gum, where the dentist's warmth and comfort melts all the icicles of fear that the horror of pain is found in the center of soul
Lovely to be, or not to be, and what to be at all
Butterfly Pie
Butterfly pie
Translucent sky
Membrane of skin
Metamorphosis of sprit given by cocoon meditational sin
What cold warmth the insect eye stares down into the mortal coil of mangled soul
What beautiful butterfly, hideous fangs, biting the surrealist sands
Quick
And deep
And down
Taking me down
To you
Together down
Down in love
Down, your skeleton bug
Your venomous prick
Your stinger
Mad cold finger of wing, warmed on the wind, hot under globe, solar, mercury, gold
Thin icing of kite, your succulent sails, your ship of passion and slaves, and higher you soar toward the heavenly gates
Forever a butterfly pie
No Better Show in Town
(this one is just for fun)
Moons of marshmallows, moons of peas, moons of flowers, silence and seas
Pee moon
Brown moon
Moon dog in soup moon
The soupy moon like fog and woods and werewolves of evil yellow slits of nocturnal orbs, Satan eyes, cold and staring, and moons out there, beware, moons out there
She mooned at me, and I mooned at her too
We mooned the world as the world mooned and tried to ruin our moons with barbed wire spoons
Her moon was deep, dark, and fuzzy warm and wet
Mine was pink like piggy
She laughed at piggy, and we kissed the dream of moon again
Moon lovely moon, I love your lovely moon
As if Kino, like silver screen, reflected light, like in the night the moon, the sun reflected on us down here, small lovers upon a rock
Then looking up, all the way up at the Silver Star spangled show
The moon glow on us: soft, passive, and slow
Moon show, show the moon show, no better show in town
M
ichael Antony Hills is a published writer of short fiction, screenplays, and poems. He has been the featured writer at BOq with a short satirical piece called, "Triple Agent Number One," which can be found in the Bias Onus Quarterly, in the July 2001 edition. Get his latest work, "The Curse," also at BOq, in the April 2002 edition.
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