“Brix, 25 & Sunshyne” /unfinished sequence, 2015///

A.J. Kaufmann

fragment 26

boy but you -need- shock talk
guitar jazz noise dollar facefunk
drought tightrope homebrewed
brilliantine slum casanova
nova- echo floating corridors
of where were you/she says – class preceding:
cum over
you can!
we’ll have tea ’til morning
discuss nothing
but will it turn you on?
…dark glass prog song/cut
-need- peach stuck yawn
blowjob nutjobs
in your market bed spat verse
at instant – reminded of the failure
last time
you wouldn’t try again
but go
for the known
deal om-steady reading USB tags
on WWII bullet walls
singing grinding beatwork facefunk again
electro spectral macro fractals
called paintings in these here
districts – of sad leftover bum pawn
artjobs – sleeping pill
scattered bop hearts
on entertainment highway – god, I’ve read
that before
in a shitty poetry
book by someone
Linda or
Bob – & it’s time -oh- to write that
-no- again

so here I shoot
calling no stations
United Sons of Bitches

fragment 7

oh! canni/ball
death dawn
cannon bull
trumpet – oh! elation
& sweets
of jazz that grow in night’s
on fracture/puncture sky
ur note or? the scene
sword on/beautiful legs/ugly
descriptions to
eloquent pearly jaws
blowing suburban
burning heavenly
releasing birds at dusk
westward baby, there’s it
circling thesis of resurrection
safe in borderline
have/frozen shower of mistakes – a
dro/nest fest of
love, that lips compose
for her;pit anonymous space gal
telepathically engaged
w/ the audience
what? music no music
just your negligee
& tables filled w/ scripts
his hand never finished

if there are solos left
if there are words
you missed/stories
you stuffed in the soul
box -why- for later…
then reach out for the dollars
& dance w/ other
boys’ hats

cause, honey
I’m done here
if you thought

body destinations

already time has gone wild
& wild things gone tame
w/ time, & I have grown shy
of the godhead
so what’s to lose, the chic face on the wall
from 10 years ago is now on display
at the cafe table
during sessions
in my bed
was that what I wanted – what was that I wanted
what want did I wased
and whatted lightbulb haven – the cinema upstairs
is now a supermarket
was it? Blank guitar sheet, sudden notes unsung
drop birds from the chimney
dead or living, no matter
the face now laughs
says „you’re crazy”

love – in a word or song – & in flesh was something I’ve learned
not felt
& what I felt was nothing I could love
guess the first mistake was the best one
& so I turned back
& smiled back, laughed „OK, I am”
but so are we

through Paris and Berlin, cheap hotels & catwalks
notebooks, myths I’ve heard rang true
& maybe I became the ghost
I chased, if so, I sure didn’t like it
so time, time warned me, put my old LPs
on, looped me back to 1998
books on nature
that I couldn’t find in this face, even if killers did
& sold it
more than once, precisely

so now I’m stuck here listening to Iggy
drawn to that supermarket
forgetting the cinema, other places re/placed
scream scream through the sky, but I meditate
slowly, calm like Iza’s hand
laughing she says, fool poet:

„Railroads, cemeteries, altars – that’s body

fragment 2

read too much! Dare
dare do too much! Right
it’s fruit blow
downstroke G-minor
goddamnit again the lazy

they’d call me brain hand
back in the 60s

chicks on postcards tinted icons fashion weepers
slow sadistic stockings
falling pin-up jewels failing triggering
practicing speeding down the silk smoke jinx &

Got it
jazz phased tape phase loop Mittwoch
dance club
Berlin! – and the chorus says „not again” over funky
beats of jelly bears
trapped! – I’m in the loop duck swinging
like an idiot
pumping chicks steam hallway
mirror grocery station
passign the park parking the car in the black hole
that suddenly grows out of
she served hot as funk-work-out
gym bus dingo transpet

milady drops the coin
says two words „fashion” one time
& off I go singing like a fool, trampolining my way out of boredom
to the Strat armored warriors
of cosmos
shaving the stache
learning to fry
sex lines

Free chili
youthster oldtimer