Written on the 1st of May with a Broken Back

Dear bold bearded black-rimmed person
on the porch
behind the keys
through the microphone
in words, sentences, the universe
at our feet
dear old young man

I’m never looking for you
between the tangerines
in the supermarket
I’m staring at you
in my dreams between bodies
I’m meditating on you
and your breathing
exercises a hush
of sentiment
staring at you

with my broken back
lifting the universe
sticking vibrators
between my thighs
with broken backs we
exercise a deep
worn reborn connection
with all those that still know
how to dare

Dear bold man, what happened to these times what happened to the times you and your friends opened all those doors to?

Last Friday two human beings, dragging with them or being dragged by
an old state, said yes I do, witnessed by a minority made majority
they baked a five storey farce tart for which back broken people paid.
Before the cake was even served
cosmic comrades were gagged and chained by
a pile of real time sugar coated, fatty dough
and now we watch and sit and listen
watch and sit and listen
with the best minds behind bars,
not starving hysterically
but being force fed with brown, heavy, immovable sugar-shocking tart.
But they don’t notice how much we struggle how much we are at ease
to rearrange and thicken our lines to stay strong and sour to the last ingredient,
dancing spastically behind transparent doors to the sounds of a new world order!

Old young bold bearded black-rimmed person
you refused to take a piece of it you refused to
let your face be stuffed with any of it
until your last breath
over the pond and banned from anywhere you made us embrace you make us embrace what we instinctively feel vibrating at our feet and lying down back flat on the ground we recover steadily to get harder, better, faster, stronger.

Cologne, Spring 2011

Inspired by: Allen Ginsberg, a broken back and saftey measurements for the royal wedding

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