from the notebook (11th nov 2010)

how good it feels
to stuff
the cabbage
I’ve tattooed
a squint
of humour
below yr nipple

watch this space
:::::::::::::::::::::::::::::::
my fingers
touch celestial
juice
———————————————————–
Concrete Pier (Trieste, Italy)

across from the Piazza Unita
sitting
on a metal mushroom
sculpture
teenagers in shaggy
clothing
sit on a concrete
pier
looking out over
light and ripples
bora gone quiet
a circle of blue lights from steady traffic
i write with neon
green pen
ipod shuffle spinning in my ear
this is dog heaven
my mouth is dry
I’ve no Italian
no major meltdowns
have metamorphosis
habit bad
11/11/2010
I’ve forgotten the date
for thanks-
giving
mornings serve nerves
this is the history
of punking poems into existence
ready to blow
you
into the empty spill
if you go ahead
and ask

——————————————————
cut moon, silvered
sick uhl
moon
you’re all
I’ve got
————————————————————–
Dog Park (Trieste, Italy)

lattice work all
around
I keep a lighter
in my pocket
my bowels full
on coffee and water
ipod still spinning
I’m ignoring yr doggy heaven
——————————————————————
I’ve skipped a page
the leaves are mulching
I can see my breath
heaven to Betsy
the voices you know
wouldn’t say yes
wouldn’t say no
whatcha wanna do with
this wheel of history
I’m a night sniffer
a light sleeper
the voices
you know
———————————————————————-
commune di Trieste
come on
Trieste
I’m still shooting
my wads
all my kind
they come
and go
come and go
———————————————————————–