“Lo-Fi Transmissions for Twombly”, a fragment

2009/07/31

I didn’t know whose house I entered
thought it was some ragged old beggar, planting
resistance, realized I killed the mastermind

Adam of fatal soil, son of the void, painted matter
ghost of oil and mirrors, supporting the roof
of nebulae island, the place of birth and revolt

Different chick every day, sketches of sci-fi machines
walls white, bold with anger, the holy kind of
fury, the one fueled by fire, immortal

I reached out and I saw, from history’s dawn up to
day, the weary mammoth walk the trail
marked with napalm and silent weeds

While the night leaned on her crutch
the wounded veteran, perfect lover
sipping wine from crashing ships

The movie then cut to a city, webbed in sudden
twilight, uncensored, laid back, grooving
to a summer melody

We were strapped to our chairs, like awaiting
execution, the poverty row at its finest
we wrote scripts on the spot, on napkins

Songs were weaved faster than light cut down
the hostile cannibal heads, infidel policy
running with the Jokerman

Smiling only when I’m told to, don’t like that new
grimace, don’t like my haircut at all,
the shirt I’m wearing was yours in the first place

And the shoes I’ve had for two hundred years
the grizzly bear on a lulled Capricorn sea
pass the equator, Sicily virginious

Ice cream cracked moon on the highway
dawn visage on the rising storm
breathing inside of hitchhiker’s patient womb

Copyright © 2009 by A.J. Kaufmann. All rights reserved.