Italian not greek

still not gotten back to that Italian poem, called Italian not greek. the way I write is crazy. I write for performance as if i was dancing. or on stage. blog as stage. stage as night. night as desire-machine. insanity as ausculate. my knees were terrible today. buckling. very funny. saw dentist. costly expensive poem, ___ seeingthedentist. yes, these guys Do knOw hOw to chisel the BuckS out. Don't they? Us worker with no insurance , us that produce words _ what uninsured lives we lead. gathered by the geese of death. well im lucky. im alive. and half-alive. smoking. knees. lonesome. lust.
what is a poem, but a door to knock on.

what's a knocking door but a space for death lovers to live on.

I write poetry. I gave my life to it. I cannot complain. But i write the complaints. its why I like Villon so much. Something about his tone. Life and loves. More interesting to me, the life he led, than others. but what life is interesting when yer possessed by writing? madness of the word. it's supper time.i ate. goin out to meet a fellow. go to a meeting. then meet a friend. coffee. then sleep. a hasty death. breath between steps. beauty frustration. Women? women are lost. mashed by the capitalist system they've become creatures of their own lost souls. i see them and wonder what the hell? how do they do it? death bears them everywhere. today on subway metro a young woman in her costume hijab gown the whole works, she looked utterly lost puzzled and frightened, the way she dressed reminded me of a nun, of images of the 'virgin mary ' from some picture book of childhood_ catechism? i dont know but to me she looked frightend lost, out of place.
hidden behind her folds. her rings, looked expensive. you
could see she was self-conscious. playing with her fancy
gold watch. she even , at one point, looked retarded. is that
what religion does? make people look retarded? no one is
free. everyone is trapped. by their religion or its heritage. the world
is run on guilt and power's play with it. pulling strings on the hierarchy behind the
scenese. death rays onthe death box.


I had to move seats. I could not bear to look at her. she looked crazy.
the young woman sitting beside to her righ,t , was dressed in
the other type of arnour. fit to kill. breasts outlined. hard body. tight jeans,
hard ass football cheeks. what death is this O woman?

How have your eyes become so blind to your beauty?
we're all trapped in the trap of the trap of the trap of the trap trap trap trap trap.

Take oFf Yer CLothes A l L O F you THousands StrIp Naked
Our Naked Bodies fearful frightened walk the streets saying
No No NO NO NO NO war No War No Religion No capital No Money No Lies
No anything the PR I mA L Cha O s

Oceans of Bearing Bear Ing BeIngs


I'll go have coffee with a friend. console him his breaking heart.
his loss. his fearsome. coffee. one million.

night will end . we will all die.

death 'll come easy. like a quick spoon.

river, we'll be reborn.

night will come wishing us awake




~~~


tomorrow's rested self will live again
bargaining singing playing

(I still dont know the date of my defence)

breathing. rest breath. rest