Der weiße Führer
Zeitreisen
In eine ferne
Trägheit, wo die Kolonien
[S.7-12]
Der weiße Führer führt

knochiges Wasser; das Rattern mittelgrau zwischen
den Brückenpfeilern. Der erste Mann meiner Tante
erzählt mir, ich sei fünf Jahre alt gewesen.
Ich: »Hatte ich Angst?«

yellowed thoughts: the new
conference carpet scrunching
under my light step


a.f.

for Jared         

Need to make it to the end of this first line the end
Alone is safe with holes like him holes of black hair non
-Metaphorical holes that smoke although you know them
To be of room temperature, the bright furniture
Sticks queer lights to the tips of his eyelashes
Won’t a flame, if seen through the slit in its core, look like the orchid of
                                                                                          self?
‘Exactly so,’ he says.
Must by all means stay on the same step the contact
‘D be lost were he to trip up higher the higher he
Will go you will go and genitals if any have to wait
Inside the straight argument, the soft monument
Of one-and-a-half fingers at the zipper unfastens
Does the papercut, applied to human nature, not flatten the sex to a
                                                                                          both?
‘Most true,’ he says
As if naked from the waist.
And must seduction, hence, not be a property of the second you doubt?
‘At any rate,’ he says
Just as scraping.
And the beloved, need he not consent to what he cannot know he is?
‚Very well,’ he says
Before he grows tired of
his own end maybe?

No, no, no, not against Capitalism itself
Not this time
No, thanks, not at this moment when I’m
On my way to
Somewhere I don’t have the time to read
A newspaper how stupid is the idea
Of stopping passers in the street
To hand them the present yesterday’s
Present
While a train slows down underneath
How stupid is that.

No, I don’t want to talk to the customer service
I’m in love
With the idea, no, thanks, really, of wasting
Things without your
Phone number I’d enjoy to eat
Access conditions like beef—this idea
Of making users call back
To get them to know you their
Provider
Like an orthodontist always insists
On a next check: Fuck

Not the system, no, no, but your intuition
Which kills my pleasure, yes: plea-
Sure inside
The wrong life I find
No, not sleep and innovation although
Sleep and innovation that sounds
Not bad not
Half bad
Inside the wrong life I find
I have the time to read
Anything but the stupid newspaper
Anything on a train that gets slower and slower
Or in a dream or something like that

To bring an axe to Atsuko
Saturday late
To see Terry the first time in public even
Later, well, unless he sleeps
At Nicholas’ apartment and if, yes,
That would be better much
More practical because Annie,
Sweet Annie she lives
Vis-à-vis since Lisa, her tango teacher,
Left her for France

And France isn’t a girl’s name
France isn’t a boy’s name
France is the name of that place
Where heads rolled
And de Sade sold
His wig for a melon-sized skull

To show the Weissenberg kids how to catch
Fireflies at dusk
To give Hannah the book from her mother after
Reading it first myself though
Atsukos’s sister thinks that’s a crime, well,
A small one but still not
Quite ethical and to Annie,
Sweet Annie I tell
This and this too: Lisa, her former lover,
Wrote she hates Spain

‘Cause Spain is not a girl’s name
Spain is not a boy’s name
Spain is the name of that place
Where bulls died
And Lorca cried
His lungs out in turn for an olive

And Annie is ill now
But I was ill first
The air on that day with the axe was too cold

And Terry still waits there
But I will not go
The only one must be the one who is stood up

Practice
On the second half of acting: practice
On -us and on -dom
Six years
On one not altogether broad trail
Six long years
Call me one who
Overdoes it with practice with
Staying true to who is still
Six years later
Six long years later
About to finish
The same sex or e.g.
The same short story,
Someone to who
You offer a free position and
Who rather
On the internet
Practices how
Hyperlinks are written and innocence
On the backside of this Xtube face must be read
More than once
Six full years of my life
Of the second half of my life
To practice
I came.

1
You deserve it
You deserve it, deserve it, deserve it.


2
The glove compartment
Is there like a Christian
Skill in overtaking, we’re taking
Our provisions from our bags, each one his own
The Savior
Didn’t want to be simpatico, he wanted love
Even for those who didn’t want, he ate
At the same table with his murderer
Don’t you hear?
The fanner
Makes this noise, since recently
It sounds like foaming
Inhuman heat
Hard shoulder ghost train sidewinders
Rear bench pressure
Cheesy blankness
Accident fantasies, the four of us
Are flying, thrust up from the wreck, the two of us
Landing safely, the children
Of Jesus on the driver’s seat and the passenger seat
Bounce exactly back into the flames.


3
His ass, yes
But the rest not

Peter, Peter in all the changing rooms
Of all indoor swimming pools
Of all the chlorine-gravid footwarm crossing zones
In front of all lockers
Next to most same-aged
Between stompin' hard heels, sailing swimming caps, and
Screaming I see that
White
Soft
And, I dunno...oval...
Peter (or God, whoever reads this first)
Why
Me facing, and why
A vulgar idiot like you?

Were the perfect
Spread fair, I had
Severed your ass with a blade
And to the sleeper in my empty bed
Given it as her pillow.


4
The following kindergarten episode from my life
Was freshly dubbed just one moment ago
And now goes like this:
While the four year-old K. is painting in
A sheet for five or six year-olds
She comes near
She, the princess
From Sweden
Or her mother is from Sweden and she,
Just as blond
Just as free
Just as self-assured
As any image of a young Swedish mother, she
Comes and asks me,
Me the best drawer
And worst gymnast
And inconspicuous joiner in games, me
The question
Of all kindergarten questions
She says
In this new version:
“Will you friend me?”
And with those same lips
She offers me
To friend me, too, in case I would
Friend her, the two of us—
No, she says nothing about us. Just like then
In this version no less, K. reacts
Too complicated
Out of constraint,
In clandestine disdain
With a meek idea of what love would be
The eruption of the Q & A game, that is, to the inside as it were
Where language is wild
Aggressive and scared like a
Small animal with raindrop-sized teeth,
K. replies, after a marked moment of hesitating
Something like:
“Do friends have to friend each other?”
And this said, once more everything is
Lost.