Autumn Collage by Serge Gurkski (best finance books of all time TXT) 📕

a tumble
and we softly fight …

Closed-eyed tongue of mine
whispers oh so wetly
to what deep down
on the marvel of your body
you first tried to hide
from me.

Let us just pretend,
we can have it without end.
Let me pay you back
all those sweet things
you have done to me:

I smoothly promise,
I will nothing but
apocalipsofy your
ever so sweetest epiphanies.


(Desire)

Oh would you please
let my heart have another
deep
blow of this sweet sweet smoke!

Congenialize me-
Let’s surprise them all now!

Let us paint indigo clouds
over and
out on the moon-blue!

Unless you scream
to make me stop it,
I will keep on
BarryWhitin you
as much as
I want and
can.

Our’s are all the nights to come …


XXXVII. The days are getting stranger the closer ends the year.


December sun in windows, my lungs yell at me: it’s winter

but Boz’s fine guitar wavezzz zzzz round my brains

swingz the bluez outta me what eva i’ was

it fine.

“Your baby’s out runnin wild, hangin with the crowd,

puttin your bizness in the streets talkin out loud

sayin you bought her this and that, how much you done spent

I swear she must believe it’s all heaven sent.

Hey now

Better bring that woman round to this sad ole truth,

the dirty low-down

Now I have to have to wonder, wonder wonder who taught her how to talk like that,

oh boy!

gave her that big idea

nothin you can’t handle, nothin you ain’t got

put your money on the table and drive it off the lot

turn on your love light, turn your maybe to a yes

same old schoolboy game got ya into this mess.

Yeah, you better come on back to town,

face the sad sad truth, the dirty lowdown

You ain’t got to be so bad got to be so cold

This dog eat dog existence sure is getting old

Got to have a Jones for this Jones for that

This running with the Joneses boy

Just ain’t where it’s at

You better get on back around

To the sad, sad truth, the dirty lowdown

…

and forces me to smile against my best intentions /

whatevuh you got.

Pagliaccializin me…………………………………………..

Yeah, yeah, yeah

Heyhey Mr. Do, it louder, louder, do it loud to me.

nothin you can handle nothin you ain’t got

You gotta have a jones for this, jones for that,

runnin with the joneses boy

just ain’t where’ it’s at ….

——————————

thank you, Holly! For the Joneses,-) to cute and Pagliacci!

Lyrics in Italics by Boz Scaggs


XXXIX: Talking Dogs

night pissed its usual anger down on me.

Don’t get pathetic now: it

simply rained and I was waiting

in front of the store with leaky awning.

Out of smoke, beer-guzzling.

Waiting!

Eventually still in time,

howsoever, they made it, they

entered leaving me with the dogs.

Knew the two big black sissies,

better: they know me. Kept them

still. (Almost) no sweat, But for the little one!

Would you believe it? She yapped her

tiny lungs out at that giant Saint Bernard.

Both of them tied he started to growl

and my two new found landerly ladies got

nervous. Furious to defend her lil sis.

Women! Needless to say I had my fun.

Needless to say, because all my neighbors

say and my girlfriend too and even people,

who don’t know me at all: He needs a dog,

I asked: could I get it, the small ruffy?

My friends, proud owners, shyly looked away

and told me: we’ve just give her away to

a guy we know, to be released next week.


XL. Clam

I meet a girl every now and then, who makes me wanna feel like any other man.

(Devil’s Blues by Charles Mingus)


Fingers still clam from

last night’s Bourbon

snap the fresh dark

new and blue

baby night

Night is a wizard

whose magic stick

brushes over

the wantoning tip

of my lips

to make a clown

of them

They slapstick inebriatedly

to their master’s choreo-

graphy,

love

me

Me has got fingers

clam still from

last night’s rendez-vous

with a bottle and you.

——–

shhhhhh, this just for Holly:

My anywaybaby

love you anyway

anyway I

hurt and you

anyway hurt

love

anyway you.


XLI. Advertisement for myself

You call me public relations?

I call you: yes!

One for shamestless of the shameless

swinging-it TX gal Becca

Glad no are you

not of xmas

with an haunchy-aunty

conquering your boudoir.

I so love it

s over

and no new

family crimes

occurred


Call me blind

You call me blind?

I call you: yeaaaaaaaaah

and gladly so


XLII. Rio De La Plata Estuaries’ Dainty Dalliance Dancers’ Deluxylight


or AC/DC’s The Jack performed live at River Plate


Heavy


metal sonnet deranged against my best

bad intentions boogie me down

best bad cat in the west

stomps dionysian. Seed is sown.


The seed of blow me blue,you

rhythmifies the jelly oceans

on those wobbly hips of your’s anew.

No pressing need for further promotions.


The masses in a chorus shout encore!

Baby, let’s them have it please!

It’s gonna put them at bluest ease.


Sweat is cooling on my skin at heat.

You even rock the most obese.

I’m gonna take your sound out to the streets.

(quod howsoever erroneously est demonstrandiddlydum)


XLIII: The Best


re-Joycing

best out of love with

you

best out of love with

me

Our love’s not in a light attire*.

Could not I just jubilate?

Within my hand I **

hold your’s again!

I will and forever I

will remember

stanza seventeen.

There is no -mind you -

word to make you mine again

It’s fine. I can’t amend.

———————————————————————————————

all ** to and owed to James Joyce: Chamber Music.

Because I love his movement 17 the most. I had a little love affair with it.


XLIV: Big cat laid down one eve


reminiscing in a cloud of wabi-sabi

precious mem’ries ’bout his

past was so-so.

Miss I, did I

anything?

There’s a

breeze in the curtains, outside lingers

a cat with sun-burned fur :

Trotted over roof-tops chasing

sometimes sparrows, mostly sun beams.

Fell once four floors down through

a chimney as wide and dark as his

Mother’s womb must have been.

Hurt not, ran off and just bit off a mouse-tail.

and this too:

Watch a tomcat balance his feather-light

paws like he was “on Broadway“ tripping,

sun, and so me, out there in day’s noise,

on the street, hell but fun.

I’m boxing back shabby me out into the air

sailing, dwindling down again mudheapupwards

but stay away from the skunks, their grins,

I need a fix of fresh of all.

Squinting and roll-rubbing the floors a bit.

Grinning tomcatishly at life.

Reminiscing thusly lay my cat.


XLV. Flood My Soul.


like unseen angels sent from

some unknown somewhere …

right into my soul

(from Precious Mem’ries)


Еще не вечер, it’s not yet night

with the sun in me and

all of this night of

light no more

still to come.

So I cakewalk out

strut my stuff and let

the good times roll,

mais si: moi, je

laisse les bon temps rouler,

as long as I can

or the Unknowable

will let me have it.

Wearing rain drops just like pearls

beautiful you meets me

on the street our dance floor

and we twist along

through this wet and gray day.

When you let me touch your skin

I know the answer to the question:

Why’s there something rather than nothing?

Why do I exist?

The answer being You.


XLVI: rhododactylos


There’s a bit of rosy blood

in the first morning hour of the boulevard,

dashed with pencils red and blue,

but the colors are rehearsing still.*


Rosy-fingered dawn, Ῥοδοδάκτυλος Ἠώς

kisses him softly awake

to a world he finds hard to love

at first sight, at least.


He needs a warm coat of booze or smack

or best of all: both

to make it again out on the streets

cackling with arrogant disgust.


He can quote Homer to himself
(Μῆνιν ἄειδε, θεά, Πηληϊάδεω Ἀχιλῆος
οὐλομένην, ... )

but that does not buy him

a bowl of soup nor cigarettes

nor a friendly bottle of Rum.


He must refill his tank

of senseless but meaningful

hope again.

He grabs the glass filled

to the brim with a musical Jinn

and consoles himself by

listening to Sappho's praise

of Atthis, unique among

Lydian women.


The Lesbian queen of poetry

stole the rosy-fingered epithet

from Homer's dawn-young sun

only to give it to her blue love-thirsty

moon: σελάννα.


XLVII: Been a long time


shortcut:

I can't count the tears of a life with no love.
Seems so long since we walked in the moonlight
making vows that just can't work right

(from the lyrics of Led Zeppelin: Rock'n Roll)


„But the overall impression,“
I was standing there with a guy
you would very much assume
to meet you in NYC downtown corners,
so him:“ is that of an erupting volcano.“
I said yes, but where's the fall out,
meaning coke of course..
Just follow my hand, he said.

Smiling like a newly-crowned king
I asked him (still in the bathroom)
yes, fine, but where's the light?

He chuckled: “There is none
I could procure for you.“

Got it, made love to a woman
I didn't like, and
stumbled
into another darkness again.


been a long time since I rock'n rolled.
lonely
lonely
lonely
lonely
long time.


XLIX: Sábados