hebdo.unterWegs:kult-yr-kuchen?
did you call for me, my darling?
i mourn my loves one town, one roof @ a time
th children’s circus offers its high-wire homework
one last night before th big top folds its tent
i seem to find my place only as i launch into headlong flight
weak knees screaming long after a cobblestone takeoff, my path
bobs & weaves among th shapeshifters of twilight
(th silky mane of an aloof beauty turnd away faces me as th dense beard of an intense, smoking charlie manson
double- while i pass a fearless hedgehog momentarily become a crouching cat…)
weimar is royally drunk on that sparkling culture money-
leaving not th slightest laundered trace
after th last worn-out avant-garde gesture dies down in th alleys
w/ out clearly markd boundaries, it’s a party for th well-off & th young-
each in their tacitly appointed quarters
from th distance of some early history
th heart of a leaning continent pumps passion into our limbs
to sing my skin awake- an ugly, catatonic prometheus, good looks
draind by th shadows of dreamless entropy
still i thank th size of life, smearing its coursing flow far beyond my petty desires & their obscure,
haphazard satisfactions…