“Umdrehn, bitte umdrehn…”


frantic photographs signed in moonlight
most likely make her cry
he always leaves them
in a telephone message,
on his LP’s back cover
instead of casual kisses
light on black death scene,
where their colors are
absurd, lace love
& telegram tiptoeing
voices, in nasty sunshine
remind her a favorite
rock star, forgotten in relations,
on tour in Holland
enjoying offerings of the road
with the queen of dandies

she’ll see him in Paris
he said don’t you worry
I leave you with B side, track six
I cut just for you
where with Tibetan sound palettes
& moog
I paint you physically
in sax party scarf
& your sister’s heels
when we met in Berlin
but the world got smaller
since then
c’est the bridge, same old
quarter, where’s you?

I remember a photo
of your
youth’s role model
sexy, with a big fat joint
advertising collective uprising
& I hope it was her voice
on an old scratched record
that said
“umdrehn, bitte umdrehn…”
all night long
forcing the famous
to collapse
booming in the majesty
of nature

Copyright © 2012 by A.J. Kaufmann. All rights reserved.