-on empty life and aimless power: a guy's
big party that happened without him

Laughed out loud this morning
happy, lightly, free,
softly stumbling down the stairs
- but really, god it isn't me.

Broken glass in the living
scrunching under my feet,
torn portraits, burnt letters,
melted bottles, boiling books
- hahaha, no, it wasn't me.

Went out, caught fire, blew up
- don't know for which cause.
Touched down on the balcony
- from the victims no applause.
Hot red footprints ten inch deep
- not mine, I was sound asleep.

Hmmm, fresh air,
can smell it through the window glass.

Who is this guy outside,
stretching out his arm to me?

Just wondering...
will they ever remove these bars,
so we can shake hands?

-from Venice: a tipsy gentleman
bursts into song for his escort girl

If I only could admire your feet, forever,
I would pray to live on
and live on - pray, forever.

     I know I am not the only one.
     So glad to follow this tranquil lot,
     these fine and happy admirers,
     who bow to pay your offertory.

To join this choir,
these humble connoisseurs
who yield to your glory.

     I stumbled, hit the bottom,
     today lost all that I possessed.
     My head, my mind, my soul -
     so incredibly clear now,
     ready to follow, eager to bow
     for the urge of my heart.

To join this song,
sung in eloquent silence,
turning to the mystery of your feet.

     This moment is eternity,
     far away my petty desires.
     It is perfect time, the only time,
     never started, never ends.

If I only could admire your feet, forever,
I would pray to live on
and live on - pray, forever.

     No sound, no sight, no smell, no taste -
     this channel opened in my heart.
     No boat, no lapping waves,
     no misty vapours shining in the night -
     just the clarity of clarity:
     a foothold for us all.

-on the pursuit of happiness

Let me pity your feet,
those innocent souls,
squeezed relentlessy
just for the sake of glory.

Let me balm your feet,
wash away the wounds,
mend what is broken,
soothing mute dispair.

Let me lay my forehead
on top of your toes.
Let them gently
speak their wisdom.

And I will go and join, again,
the madness of this world.

But let me feel the earth
in this crazy pirouette,
our reaching up, up, up:
digging deep, while scraping skies.

-on a mummy whisperer encouraging an ancient,
   dedicated servant to worship his mistress once again

Come, rise, out of your bandages.
Do not fear her reptile grin,
those dead, cold, killing eyes,
that lacerating tongue.

Watch that glimmer of hope:
the naivety of her simple feet,
those loose phalanges calling for bonds.

Come, kneel, kiss them tender!
Those harmless toes,
that innocence, clumsy and unspoiled.

Now love, hope and fear can make you
find yourself in bandages, again.
Look upward, eyes shut...
Loose yourself in cosmic lights:
her toe tips brightly guide you through the night.

-on a Miami academic being sued
   for fetish ****** harassment

Quitchie of Reid,
you and your electric feet -
you make my safety fuses blow
when I see the tapping of your toe,
slowly touching a tile beneath.

Have mercy on a man in chains,
whose decency goes down the drains
once tortured by the endlessly enthralling sight
of your hot, sweet, cruel might
that boils the blood inside his veins.

Ah... Quitchie of Lewd,
you're so electro-cute.
One day my arm will stretch,
your soles, your toes, your nails I'll catch
and down I'll go in flames -
happy, void and mute.