the three wise ...


Now if moths really had teeth they wouldn't be moths would they ?
  nor would we we' d be   birds standing on flames  or
    words standing in line and marriage vows'd ring
 'standing' ovations  kings on crowning glory and  stolen virtue

unreal as a daisy or 'inegal'.  as the french, here, like to say 
  After all the thigh-bone is connected to the ring  clattering stone
  cold storage is its only known mate color blind like any bluff a blind 
woman, her saws,  and 'terrible' sighs, without which mask and paint she'd 

itch our feet as a ghost in a  king novel pinched by the price
of  a well known sacrifice but dinner is at 7 in Nantes and I am the painter's 
guest in  a full silence lent me by the driving arrow
 of necessity's foggy sitter

now hear this you rugged bird you howling wolf  you uncovered  a pearl
but letting it lie fallow you  gotta wonder 'did I make a mistake'
'I should have written to him'  and 'replied to those pleas'
but the moon was fat as only a winter god might be hung down
on the sleigh bell sky 

  let this be known as you  wander  a street marked with crabs, and cobwebs,
history's ancient scent,  a  pink salmon,  mocking the star, heels muttering in the 
alley going that way over there  you see Monsieur , not this way but promises
are orients with ball-gowns and lovers work terrible territories

 whence the dark abyss of retreating seasons 
    Lay that to rest kick off the curtain toss off that box
   hum along here it's the new world





Moth rhymes with Goth
 not teeth 
  which  does rhyme with grief
   good grief!

be debriefed   soldier
the sky's a sunset
charmed with pink

it's fauvism at
its best
a tangled energy




... cité'

'Ce sont des villes !' (r)

                                         Unreal City,
Under the brown fog of a winter dawn,  ( Baudelaire et Eliot ~)
Fourmillante cité, cité pleine de rêves, Où le spectre en plein jour raccroche le passant! 

'                                         L'ancienne Comédie poursuit ses accords et divise ses Idylles :
                                                    Des boulevards de tréteaux.' (Illumnations )



Champagne-sur-Oise ,



Auvers sur Oise

(villon )   (jeu de mots)

_________________________________>    et apres Nante pour la visit avec

                                                                                                                      un peintre 


teach mindful


teach mindful beneath the heap of
under muscles of laughing mind
a buddha's strange smile!
delight  i come to bring you a light a light!

                                 pause at the edge of chatter_bug
not the jitterbug

the wild lucid light
chaps ring true the false flag
warning its pet peeve
a word take a  word  drag coin   standing at the corner

17e arrondissement Cité des Fleurs

 quelle plasir au Avenue de Saint-Ouen walking between the haunches of a woman

is this unbreakable?
 blessings of fingers, nails, her beak, bust
clacking along
with you in her wake
   as usual

  no one swore to remember to forget a
            passion a powerful kiss on the lips
   in the ribs in the lewdest city in this universe 

  of   dhows and cufflinks






It's nice to be   in Paris (Paree), in France.  South North and east, and all the west,
  to the (9 celsius degrees!) "portes de Paris' like


Porte des Ternes
Porte de Villiers
Porte de Champerret
Porte de Courcelles
Porte d'Asnières
Porte de Clichy
Porte Pouchet
One 'port(e)' leads to another    ~




you tortured men with your beauty
  then the punishment arrived
 like  a sudden wind kicking you in the knees

no one laughed but everybody was relieved
   they were cruel
  they hated your beauty

other days you were beaten like an old lady in the medieval streets
thatched roofs and filthy lanes stinking dung, shit, blood, feces, waste plunder unshaven faces
leering in the corners, jerking off masturbating idiots, and then the  soldiers
  kicking and beating, the caw cops , the gangsters of hope and hate

 breaking necks smashing faces using weapons no one knew
 and the priests hacking
  the goverment clerks

the bishop on his throne eating honey baked bread whole wheat yoga
'organic' vergetables

they hated every inch of your beauty

 the angels the angles





 a boy's soul dreams that  he's  a woman

  the world flowers beneath his d r       e           a          m                


  'why do fools fall in  love?'


love's cruelty


love's infinite cruelty knows no end.



how is it

 what are you doing in Hawaii?

 you are   not me              right?  isn't that the water I hear behind me

     it isn't the radio



Graham Green's  versus  the     unknown soldier
   reality versus                                death

Hawaii waves rolling   surf ululating sideways women's bodies shaking
  a dream of the high sea   that's not really high out here
 not far from those of  the desert paintings naked lolling                 here in the Pacific

     world of bodies sand blue sapphire gem  

 the height of this tall twisted goddess

                             (lets her low hanging hair   sweep the plain) 
                                                             the green hand on the leaf       the gold-bronze of the bodies cambering over sand

                            whispering the feet picking the water 

  it trickles does it not
   a song humming for ruin

 at the crest it booms  roaring pillage to my ears

  these trees are they creation's halo?

               better  these   than the silos I saw  in  Nebraska

_________________________________________| yet another example of bad writing.