Selected Poems

Fuck the Astronauts

Fuck the Astronauts Eventually we must combine nightmares an angel smoking a cigarette on the steps of the last national bank, said to me. I put her out with my thumb. I don't need that cheap talk I've got my own problems. It was sad, exciting, and horrible. It was exciting, horrible, and sad. It was horrible, sad, and exciting. It was inviting, mad, and deplorable. It was adorable, glad, and enticing. Eventually we must smoke a thumb cheap talk I've got my own angel on the steps of the problems the bank said to me I don't need that. I will take this one window with its sooty maps and scratches so that my dreams will remember one another and so that my eyes will not become blinded by the new world. II The flames don't dance or slither. They have painted the room green. Beautiful and naked, the wives are sleeping before the fire. Now it is out. The men have returned to the shacks, slayed creatures from the forest floor across their white stationwagons. That just about does it, says the other, dumping her bucket over her head. Well, I guess 88 we got everything, says one, feeling around in the mud, as if for a child. Now they remember they want that mud, who can't remember what they got up for. They parcel it out: when they are drunk enough they go into town with a bucket of mud, saying we can slice it up into windmills like a bloated cow. Later, they paint the insides of the shack black, and sit sucking eggs all night, they want something real, useful, but there isn't anything. III I will engineer the sunrise they have disassembled our shadows our echoes are erased from the walls your nipples are the skeletons of olives your nipples are an oriental delight your nipples blow away like cigarette papers your nipples are the mouths of mutes so I am not here any longer skein of lightning memory's dark ink in your last smile where the stars have swallowed their train schedule where the stars have drowned in their dark petticoats like a sock of hamburger receiving the lightning into his clitoris red on red the prisoner confesses his waltz through the corkscrew lightning nevermind the lightning .in your teeth let's waltz I am the hashish pinball machine that rapes a piano. 89 ...