IV

Good friends,
Wouldn’t we be pleased
To get out a while?

Habit makes blankets filthy,


We’ve been flowing away and away
Marvelously pomp, smoking in bed all day,
On the wall, all hearts hanging like bats

Habit groans until we go off to sea and harpoon a whale (?)
Nags until we pack up with the caravans and the camels (?)
We’d like to drive railroad spikes until the frontier is dead buffalo (?)

Oops, no longer an option,
Good friends

(Good friends,
driven off the cliffs in droves!)

My travel logs are kept by millions of brains
I travel with myself or with you,
What to do with this ‘we’?




Hang it,
I go wherever I want and thunder like extinction
Down all sorts of boulevards and straßen and ulitzi and calles,
Down whatever else there may be

And pretend to touch with invisible fingers,
With all sorts of invisible fantasies

Getting truly creepy in this realm



When I come to those waterfalls,
I’ll stick my head right underneath,
Without it being a problem at all,
My skull safe in the microwave,
In its own right

With false hand,
I sweep my hair back against the stream
I sweep my head back under the water,
For probably 10 minutes
It was just oarghh blurghh hoaaghf

And elsewhere




Monsieur Henri Rousseau,
You’re the real painter of our world

I’ve never been in the jungle either;
May I address you as ‘tu’?
Shall we walk home together,
So as to ponder other exiles?

Well, I didn’t think so.



Wandering in grisly fake malls
I slipped a gold ring
Over my favorite pillow

“Be my wife”, and
All symptoms were set to ‘go’,
When a lady from pornhub.com
Got in touch with me, or touched me

In times of e-mails past,
I had imagined that she
was my own bowie knife baby
I’d rub her arms while she
pulled me out of a k hole (or my life)

She’s hard to reach,
More often than not




I hallooed to the babies of foreign spring,

I chuckled rose buds
And I meandered

Babies of far off spring,
Could you peep my travels?
My small excursions,

Travel and suicide
live in repose
and on the same bed
lol










But the sights!
Oh heavens, the sights!

Ride bareback on whatever nag you can find,
And cry out from the tundra’s back seat,

“Oh, fuck!”

“O fuck!”

“O fck!”

“o fck”