Chica cailiente, straightest hair,
Image rich, asset poor tonight,
**** sirens, seeking Mr. Right.
On this Friday in Santo Domingo.

Single fathers with kids, eager
To earn a weekly happy moment,
For all the mistakes of the past,
On this Friday in Santo Domingo.

The other men are here hunting,
Searching, looking everywhere,
But, into their partners’ eyes,
On this Friday in Santo Domingo.

The girls here are too young,
The men are twice their age,
Desperately looking for love,
On this Friday in Santo Domingo.

Wanda greets me with a “Hi” and a hug,
?Qué hora es el vuelo los lunes¿ she asks,
Touch-less communication is absent here,
“Ocho y media” I reply in almost Spanish,
To be sure I email my itinerary for pickup,
“Tener un buen fin de semana” she says,
As a parting hug ends the conversation,
On my visit to the right side of Hispaniola.

Crisp white waiters serve you smiles in Haitian time
Going native on Saturday night with Lambi Creole
Ti Coca rhythm band beats the music of tonight
Running fast will be a heart attack in this old town

Red neck cops dine with plain Jane UN girls
Touch in weekend lust and hopeful smiling eyes
Local white eyes shine in contrast colourful love
Slow down chill out and move to the music now

Pétionville to Paris seems a million miles away
A tense post-carnival gloom sets into Cité Soleil
As naked kidnap victim runs free in desperation
Different worlds in this blinkered rain-soaked town

Montana shoeshine man has ***** shoes,
Billie sings “That Ole Devil Called Love”,
The sun is shining but rain falls over me.

Occasional internet frustrates all work,
Every problem is someone else’s fault,
A Groundhog Day of daily tasks undone,
The black dog is with me in this place.

Is it me or is it them I ask myself again?

Today I cannot even die enough to cry-
Guess it’s those old Haiti Blues again.

Sunday-empty Auckland my pre-breakfast escape,
Sheep-spotted mountains in early morning mist,
Whangarei marina for a cauldron of cappuccino.
Shop of metal sheep starts a day of Kiwi weirdness,
Of customer requesting glassblowing lessons, and
“All Blacks” silk boxers, unworn by players I hope.

Driving to Dargaville for Mr. M. Ujdur museum treat,
That late gum-digging, Esperanto teaching, vintner.
Beside a colossal collection of accordions with muzak,
Playing an instrument-impossible Whiter Shade of Pale,
Plus coins and buttons and stamps and Scotsmen,
Left feeling stunned, like I was tripping on acid.

The possum cull with prizes seemed almost normal.

Oatmealed and omeletted, start to a dull grey Seattle day
Mutual “Good morning” yawns wait the elevator gruzz
Cheery maid vacumates my room in a swirl of efficiency
Brundling my notes and my PC together I walk to work
Strumphing along beside the fumes of the grundling traffic

Email mountains confabulate the uncoffeed hordes
Typed kerattle the calm before the budget storm
Subterranean stocks desphorror of legal gamblers
Bonehead logic meets dumbling marketing aspirations
Now silent nerbling excuses of cur-whipped executives

Micawber’s message crystal in strangression of promises
Fundamental economics the only possible bankerage
Blood will flow in abattoir of management incastrophies
Doe-like and frembling in the light of impending execration
The stapression painfully personal as reality bites as last

Beer time comfrunks gather early in a huddle of hope
Sheep-like they absorb the tendralations of others’ fears
Remonstressing their misfortune in a depression of dinner
Relaxed at last in a hopefindation of beer goggle logic
Sleepfully staring at the mortgage arreared ceiling

My thankful escape to the Murakamied Sputnik symphony
Harmony in the silence of solitaricious nightcap with Hilton Mark
Wishing I was home now with my cuddlicious girl again
Grateful for loving and living in this aventacular world
I quietly srift off to sleep in a snozzle of sweet dreams

Running rings around thirteen hours of opera
I sit spell-bound absorbing the angry music
Suppressing an urge to re-conquer Poland
Music a direct expression of world’s essence
**** passion means Israel is Wagner-free
Tristan and Isolde unplayed before Ludwig
Love and death and passion for Mathlde
Eros and Thanathos that predate Freud
Arthurian love story interrupted by Minna
Overwhelming influence frustrates his peers
Worried that his brilliance is simply anger
That guarantees you feel undead tonight.