les pauvres cœurs
Sunday, February 24, 2008
Mary, Mary
curls and whirls a tangle of swirls
the wind sweeping sweetly
about her face
give her a taste of the brand new place
and plant little nothings in her womb gardens
they'll never stick
for her time has slowed
and body called to radioactivity
come here and lick
the nuclear holocaust from her chin
laid bare beneath
the neon concealer
all the little lights
turned on by her smile
Clenched
get angry
for all we missed
shake your fist
found my lieben lost
all it is
für nicht alles
shake your fist
I won't blame you
I love drunk poems.
for the flavors
of Germany have invaded
our blood
Amidst techno and Kolsch
we have lost our heritage
in Feist
and whatever we used to know
we have Lost!Milesly
we know not even ourselves
Thursday, February 21, 2008
Confession
all your posessions and
feeble-minded knick-knacks
possessively playing the passive
role of the perfect little wife
repent and recant
your head will not be emptied
no savior son no savoire faire
to taste light in life
on top of the world
repent and recant
on your knees in the kitchen
the oven is still broken
no meat for your family no
not this day
repent and recant
the company you are keeping
spilling bloodfrom hildren's eyes
sacrificial knife your own
chopping board the base of guillotine
repent and recant
your sins before me
taste the forgiveness lying deep
within my cunt
the first piece you take
repent and recant
before your father returns
and sees the mess
that you've made of mother
dead women don't clean house
repent and recant
a bittersweet redemption lies
awaiting to acquit
your holy soul O my child
what have you done
Wednesday, February 20, 2008
fresh excerpt: Orange
We entered a café/head shop. All I could see was orange. It was like being inside a cheetoh, or a carrot.
"Um... um... I don't know. But it's... it's too orange. It's everywhere. All over me! And I can't get it off!" I could hear the panic summoned from the depths of my stomach.
“All right, let’s get you some fresh air.”
“Forgive me if I’m forward, sweetheart, but I think you’re really quite frightened. And tripping balls in the middle of a city you don’t know.” I looked at him. “Are you listening?” I nodded. “Good. I’m a good guy. So are James and
Thursday, February 14, 2008
"The Bus Mall" - The Decemberists (Picaresque)
Our shoes were our show boats
We kicked around.
From stairway to station
We made a sensation
With the gadabout crowd.
And oh, what a bargain,
We're two easy targets
For the old men at the off-tracks,
Who've paid in palaver
And crumpled old dollars,
Which we squirreled away
In our rat trap hotel by the freeway.
And we slept-in Sundays.
Your parents were anxious,
Your cool was contagious
At the old school.
You left without leaving
A note for your grieving
Sweet mother, while
Your brother was so cruel.
And here in the alleys
Your spirits were rallied
As you learned quick to make a fast buck.
In bathrooms and barrooms,
On dumpsters and heirlooms,
We bit our tongues.
Sucked our lips into our lungs
'til we were falling.
Such was our calling.
And here in our hollow we fuse like a family,
But I will not mourn for you.
So take up your makeup
And pocket your pills away.
We're kings among runaways
On the bus mall.
We're down
On the bus mall.
Among all the urchins and old Chinese merchants
Of the old town,
We reigned at the pool hall
With one iron cue ball
And we never let the bastards get us down.
And we laughed off the quick tricks--
The old men with limp dicks--
On the colonnades of the waterfront park.
As 4 in the morning came on, cold and boring,
We huddled close
In the bus stop enclosure enfolding.
Our hands tightly holding.
But here in our hollow we fuse like a family,
But I will not mourn for you.
So take up your makeup
And pocket your pills away.
We're kings among runaways
On the bus mall.
We're down
On the bus mall.
We're down
On the bus mall.
Down on the bus mall.
Oh ooh oh
Wednesday, February 13, 2008
jet stream unconcious knowledge
to rise and awaken my beaten
beat body beat soul oh my
Kerouac and Ginsberg leaning keeping
that lamp in its place
broken glass the lightbulb he dropped
sticking feet bloody tracks the floor
the floor how can we forget the floor
smeared 'cross your lips the shine
mein lieben ich brauchen ein package
zu Amerika the land of foreign nationals
and currency that I have lost
dizzied from the dizzy heights
the tower we've leapt from
the waters we lap from
the Rhein where we never swam and can't
too cold it is forever too cold
sleep oh sweet sleep of blackness
forever forgetting dreams of nonsense
explosions hearts beat faster
in the dark we know each other
or rather you are trying to know me
and I will not let you I hate your
wandering hands and prying eyes
kiss my sweet American lips
that fuzzy place is coming the gray before dawn
a moment before I am aware
the rain that beats in shamed silence
the fog that pulls to faraway memories
the things I miss while I drift in
seas of dreamsand and your fingerskins
my back
no
stop
don't. touch. me.
Saturday, February 9, 2008
Fresh Air
endless trains
I am speeding home to Fabian
and the boys who don't know
what to do with me
and away from the boy who only knows
one thing
Crammed into this commuter train
on hard blue seats
fake velous covering
Now changed to green
a week later
one more train one more
dying second class passenger
Maastricht to Aachen
Aachen to Horren
Horrem to Loevenich
my beloved Sbahn!
back to the men who don't
know what to do with me
and away from the boy
who truly knows only one thing
I've left my heart
somewhere over the swollen atlantic
don't bring it back, whatever you do
Tuesday, February 5, 2008
Recalling Your Voice
and my handwriting has
changed inexplicably.
How I long for Amsterdam
and the sweet lilt of
a London accent.
Antony -- where are you?
Drunk Letter to Ginsberg, 010208
Tonight I learned that when the mask comes off, there is naught but madness and jealousy. Every German girl is prettier, blonder, thinner, and all I can think is how much I want to cover that damn boy's face in kisses. When is it my turn, daddy? When? When do I get the man they've been telling me I deserve for so long? I don't want to be second best, I won't fucking settle for that, not ever again.
Ha, I bet I won't be able to read this tomorrow.
But just remember your rule, Milesly, fall in love often, but keep two or three at the most.
It doesn't matter.
It doesn't fucking matter.
I want Michael.
Love,
Milesly
Untitled, 010208
could hold a candle to you
Jessie.
And I may be drunk
but my secret has always been
how much
I loved you.
Germany girls can be as pretty
as they want
but nothing will compare
to you.
Every Little Thing
every city I am in
reminds me of the two of you
scantily clad dreaming
two different points/times/places
I am still two different people
still enhanced enchanted
by the majesty of your innocence
Those eyes look at me
across time and space
so I am always seeking everything
I can never find
all the things I found
in your precious/multi-hued/faceted eyes
I couldn't be bothered to take
Forgive a simple writer for her crimes
and accept a penance
of every jazz bar entered is a reminder
of you.
crawling through space, 12.2005
Only to lie on your bed once again
In all my naked glory,
Covered only by your flesh
Salt-swept body of the sea
Plunged down upon the dirt red earth.
I rolled over to blaspheming noise
The man pounding on the door
Sitting up to find only that I am alone,
Covered by hardly a sheet
Salt-soaked body of the sea
A mere dream among white frosted fields.
Monday, February 4, 2008
thinking of home
it has blown across the atlantic
to hit my cheeks in amsterdam
its so cold i would think
the canals should be frozen
and i know those olympia stars --
scattered far across the sky
in the frigid german night
i am thinking of you
in the blue cigarette smoke
wondering how you've been...
Sunday, February 3, 2008
My Love?
Then, we could get Firecracker popsicles and eat them messily without napkins and kiss the sugary stickiness from each other's faces as we search the city for the perfect refrigerator box to imagine ourselves into outer space. You can hold my hands and I will kiss your forehead, and somewhere, one of us will promise forever -- and the other will agree but not mean it.
Our respective bedrooms will smolder in the summer heat, the fans doing nothing, the windows wide open, and our bodies bared for all the city to see. "Fuck them!" You will cry, "let them watch!" Taking another swig of the tequila, your teeth on my neck, my nails in your back, another achingly quick descent into the mad passion that is the summer night.
But summer ends, dear, and autumn comes. We will be lulled into each other's false sense of security until I see you coming out of our restaurant with a tall blonde, or you see me dashing into the public library with a quick piece of Eurotrash. Words will be said, plates will be thrown, tears will be shed, and one last night of madness before we look at each other and say, "Dear God, if I ever see you again, it will be too soon."