“Mr. Raff, congratulations you have won 50,000 American dollars in our national lottery!” I explained that Clarence Raff had crapped out in the back bedroom of this shack that I'm currently buying, by installment, from his heir and former neighbor: 30-yr.-old, 119-pound, blue-eyed, double-D cupped, 5' 7'' natural blonde Sue Buccini Strasser. The line went dead so I hung up. 12 minutes later the phone rings. This time it's Hector J.V. McJohnson (step-brother to Raoul and Acting Supreme Council Chairman to the Regional Zone of Money Transference, Incorporated) to congratulate me on meeting the stringent specifications for national lottery transferableness, which is the fact that I have maintained the primary telephone number of the deceased lottery ticket purchaser. “Sir,” (Here it comes, I thought.) “there is the matter of a transferableness fee that the government in the capital city imposes on the winnings of a lucky person like you.” I sent the $500 directly to Hector as he pledged with his “most sacred honesty” is the best way...the New Zealand way to form a bond that no one can ever break! A week passed, and another, and another. I called Hector. No one answered. A full 6 months flew by before the call came through from Jules McWatsonberry to congratulate me on winning 50,000 American dollars. I interrupted him to say that I had gone through this process 6 months earlier. I sent Jules $500 immediately to cover the pre-transportable excise duty on the 2nd fifty grand as I figured that the original fifty grand would be here any day now. Days melted into weeks. On my birthday, 9 months later to the day, a certified bank draft, arrived by courier signed by Raoul, Hector & Jules for $92,780 payable to me. They had combined my winnings onto one check. I couldn't believe it! So many people doubted the honesty of these mysterious New Zealanders as I honestly described them. 50 grand & 50 grand is 100 grand! These greasy ******* shorted me $7,220. Will I ever be able to trust again? Will this wound never scab?

Waking in the stagnant syrup, viscous in its compound, molasses for the profound
Met Anne soiling the jar as Mouschi and Boche wage war
Diary held in the family name, passages removed for the sanctity, of a lonesome father’s sanity.
Voided bowels kept in masonry, cemented, to the back, weeping out portals of light held through a crack.

Seems prosperity can be found in imposed seclusion, though not maintained until conclusion.
Turned over for turnip change, imposing on the Frank family a need to estrange
Left off to Poland to fumigate the air, stripped of the yellow star one’s required to wear.
Thrown into death in motion, avoid eye contact, and most kinds of commotion.
……………………………………………………………………………………………………………………………
The voided track clicked into a closed lane.
Hennessy held as operators quiver in alcoholic splendor.
Rolling thunder, click clacking for no gain.
Stationary tumble, fragments of ice kicked up from the blender.

Mrs. Garrett went to town on all the *****
Traded for at cost.
Pulverized **** gifted for a glimpse of ****
Snorted out with assembling frost.

Cannibals hidden amid the train car
Stored in S.S uniforms, to be smelted in coming years
Vocalizing incendiary bigotry meant to sour
Relieved transgressions…being deemed a response to fears.

Cruel, burnt ash floating from the cinders
Red-lit skyline resonant before sleep
Slave life held in mines, and retrieving timber
Sole remaining heirloom, the cloth from their feet.

1

the free wheel turns
and from the asphalt
the chains dissolve
after every consonant
like a sphere walking on heels
sums the response of your epoch
daaa-brrrum-pa-uf
the sound continues

2

on a sleeping tree
that spits butter
every other morning
MERZ came along
dancing on neglected values
like the horn of whales
bending water at every
corner
in the slums of egotism

3

art has no meaning unless
art has no arms unless
art devours brains unless
art verifies stupidity unless
art has to be edible unless
art sleeps like an idiot unless
art bleeds through my fingers
unless art

4

falling like dominos
will turn the bipolarity of the glass
only to be slashed
so I can see
my pillow that rebells
to the murdering machine
every night
every night with gloves
filled with blue feathers

5

we are born
we are children
we grow
we die
in between, there is a shadow
covering the ghost
slowly piercing your skull
singing on tip toes
in the enchanted forest

6

I call
for the un-trembling hand
amidst the violence
and humanity
against the frozen word
breast of black matter
where spring holds her veil
river stones and milk
ghost of love

7

garbage laying
daughters of despair
renounce the yolk of logic
senses shall play
as it was intended
do not let reason fool you
she’s no more than a
servant

8

who disbelieves
imaginary facts

9

the betrayal of reason

10

Popart popart
garbage of the past

11

a malicious smile
Hans Arp, Raoul Hausmann, Hannah Höch
and Richard Huelsenbeck
out of the ruins of German culture
all conceivable materials
the union of art and non-art

12

continue to study the natural world
childlike and convoluted
the elated and troubled
new forms of typography
a new visual language

13

The **** regime banned
all your creative activities
Primiti Too Taa

14
rakete rinnzekete 
rakete rinnzekete                                                       ­  
rakete rinnzekete 
rakete rinnzekete 
rakete rinnzekete 
rakete rinnzekete 
Beeeee 
bö.

15

Why?

16

the movements of the poem
string, cotton wool or a pram wheel
equal with paint
to reverberate
carved on its journey
repeating them in many different voices
a relentless momentum

17

new people, new shapes, colors, and details

18

blast the institution of slavery
blast the educational system
blast the paper cup morals

19
simultaneous happenings
will reign in the hearts of men
and turn them small and
smaller

20

Imaginary facts and the marvelous
appearances of the right moment
which is a woman
or a dice
with the shape of a cloud
******* on happiness

21

find a place

22

The nose is a myth

23

feign of death
the modern man

Red owl Raoul
is black cat jesus, that's me.
She is a buddha *****
cosmic Kali.
WE BOTH
        LIKE
              PANCAKES!

We be time-benders;
the Moonrise
Kingdom children.

She's the d-flow,
     I'm the P-funk.

We both be seein the future
in-synchronistic
copacetically hieroglyphic kaleidoscope jazz time.

Speakin' cayenne magic,
we make love with eye blinks
and smoke kisses.

Did you watch the news today?
It was all over the network.
Broadasting the horrors of bloodshed.
The war is back,
The playgrounds are gone.
Can you see the bloodstains
On the swingset Raoul's mother
Bought him for christmas last year?
Can you see? Can you hear?
There are women and children crying on the streets.
The boys have all been sent to war,
Two hundred and seventy three died
Yesterday in this town alone.
Is there a place I can go,
A place I can escape to?
Where I can read this book in peace?
Peace,
I say the words and my neighbour laughs.
That is a word that has been lost in time.
The sirens go off every morning,
And we scramble off to the basement,
The bombs are here, the enemy is at the gates.
Do you remember when we had to ask Mother
If we could stay up after 10 pm?
That was a luxury I gave away.
If only I could sleep at 10 pm again,
Without fear of the barrel of a gun at my temple.
The pain, oh the pain.
Life has turned into a desert I visited two summers ago.
There was a girl.
I think of her sometimes,
I think of what could have been if this war wasn't real.
Maybe she would have been real.
Seldom do we get what we want.
The things we fear,
Our nightmares emerge out as reality instead.
The television so kindly tells us where the war is now.
I knew his mother, I knew his brother,
And the blonde one, I went to high school with her.
Familiar faces on the TV.
It would have been exciting if I saw them
At some other time, and without lifeless eyes
Being carried away from places torn down by this battle.
Bombs.
They unexpectedly come and they take away what's dear,
But I'm still here.
Still hiding in this basement.
Thinking of the desert sand seeping through my hand.
Of the time when I held her hand.
She had a beautiful smile.
Are you here to save me from the war?
To take me to a place where i can finally read this book?
It tells the story of a young man
On a desert trip,
And a girl who destroyed him.
A girl named war.
There's a knock on my door.
She is here.

"Call me James," he said.
Neither Jim, nor Jimmy; &
Certainly not:  Jimbo.
Simply James, like King James,
The English Bible James,
James who authorized the translation,
James the First, himself;
Not that other James--
The James of Raoul Dahl--,
The James who got involved with a
Gigantic peach.

Oh from afar, I saw you pursue
the heart of the woman - for since her father died - you knew
Your love was like fire
that consumes
so greedy, so lonely, it's taking all of you.
Lurking in the night, oh my grieving Phantom,
saw you give in to the dark
just to let her
shine among the shadows.
And every little word
and every curve of your letters,
every tune of your music,
and every message of your symphony
All for the fuel of her wings and glory.
And when she sang for Raoul,
a crumbled rose, an out of tune
your soul lost the little hope
that I wanted for you.
And now, won't you be
my own Angel of Music
or perhaps I can be
the Angel you wanted to be.
Oh, won't you look at your back
and see my secret love.
We'll make a new song of light and dark,
of betrayal and a new spark
Let me see the dark in your eyes,
those lonely sights behind your mask,
those desires for a happy life
Let me sing
your broken songs
of loss
of pain
of longing
as I mend your shattered dreams
and bruised bones
and we'll make a new song
of chances
of embraces
of me - seeing and loving you.
And as Raoul was bound to love her
when he heard her sing,

I was and am bound to love you
when I heard you cried,
Erik.

The one that loves you,

Is it too late to go back
to when I declared with a whimper
what I should've kept silent
to release another day, so
I could act like a man:
cool, calm, and collected?

If so I'd wait till
you and I were eye to eye
to ask you out for a drink
that neither you nor I could buy.
Once seated I'd lay down my suit of hearts
in front of my queen;
let sweet dreams retire in the night
full of hopes, and solemn despair.
I'll wait to see if I'm your Erik or Raoul,
Christine I am a fool but,
what I wouldn't give...

I will wait till my patient death
to line your breath, and I
am even willing to be your late-night regret
discarded behind shadows the next day,
forgotten in the recesses of your mind's missteps.

I'd rather be your mistake
that you wish you'd never made,
than be a no one to you;
some weepy wimp in your wake.

Most stylish walk
Most effective way to talk
Knew it all
Even before the talkies were to start


Made The Big Trail
With Raoul Walsh
On 70 mm and the film flopped
Career took a drop


Waited for 9 years
To be cast by Papa Ford
Ringo Kid in Stagecoach with Claire Trevor
Was born the greatest International Superstar

Westerns  War Drama and Sports films
All genres suited him
Topped the box office 4 decades
23 times made the Quigley list

A record yet to be broken
It needs another Duke Wayne
Kept audiences happy
Quality films he delivered yearly

Every movie now a classic
Revisiting them makes one nostalgic
50 year career
Ended due to the villain called cancer

In our hearts forever
Immortal in his fame
The only and only
Marrion Morrison who became
Duke Wayne

Here in India
All his movies
Sold out at the Box office
In their hearts built his edifice

My father a huge fan
Didn't cry when his parents died
Shed tears when he read that John Wayne had died


A great Patriot
Proud to be an American
Loved the American way
Dreamt the American dream

Most enviable filmography
One Classic after another
Overflowing box office receipts
Dedicated fan following one of the causes

An idol for the common man
Always in tune with his fans
Three generations of a family
Liked the Duke for different reasons naturally

Decades at the top
Found a place
In millions of hearts
For life and beyond

Everyman' tries to copy
John Duke Wayne s personality
Impossible to mimic his life
You can try and stop with his walk

Won an Academy Award
Playing Marshall Rooster Cogburn
True Grit with an eye patch
One more of his conquests


Also turned Director
Westerns and War the genre
Wore many hats with dignity
In his dignity lies his beauty

Started his Banner
Every film a surefire winner
Called the company Batjac productions
Launched many newcomers giving them  a new direction

Default favorite of millions
Had fans across beyond definitions
Always a Republican
Controversial views never affected his reputation

The name John Wayne
Stood for Macho Integrity and honesty
Saddled up for a cause
Whatever the opposition he never paused

Ford Hawks Huston and counting
Auteurs at the top
Colloaborated with the Duke
Their vision in film manifested

Professional to the core
First to come and last to go
Passion for his profession of choice
Made him people s number 1 choice

Am a great fan too
Not his fan i haven't seen two
God bless him his fans and  family
With great reverence i write this solliloqy