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germo_sold_out
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Name: Germo
Country: United States
State: Illinois
Metro: Edwardsville Madison County
Birthday: 11/13/1987
Gender: Male
Interests: Trees, books, dinosaurs, kung fu, poetry, bacon, mohawks, and samurai movies
Expertise: Breakfast, lunch, and dinner--also insomnia
Occupation: Unemployed/Between Jobs
Industry: Entertainment
Message: message me
AIM:  germo sold out
Member Since:
4/17/2006
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| I measure:
sugar in spoons
tea by the cup
like I drink coffee black
bitter by my mother's smile
lips by blood flow swell
color by the skin those lips brush
love?
love I measure
in the leaving
in the hollow echo
pain
pain by the beauty of its cause
lonely in "goodnight"s
I know:
geome- trigonometry
français et Deutsch und 日本語
and books pages washed in words
pain which is the pain of love
beauty by what I break
my hands
memories ghosts
only mystery
mystery by what I don't know
that I can't measure
the silence after sigh
(Note: Xanga murdered the form for this one)
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| The police have shot another young, black man
He will be put in a box and buried
In the cemetery, the communists, anarchists, and activists
will lament out loud
and from the microphone feast on his corpse
to feed the cause
But capitalism, government, and race do not kill people
I hang my head and close my eyes
We are all being buried in that box forever
I want to break something
Someone has died
The rest is silence
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| Bitter coffee, black
wrinkled hands with the half-and-half
drop them on a tray
The jukebox croons too far to be heard
through the cramped, greasy air
"Anythin' else?"
"No thanks"
No, thank you"
3:14 glowers out the window
past the apparition of your face
Your eyes sink,
twin ships, one end tilted towards the night sky
bound down more than five fathoms, full
Smoke floats up from the ashes
of a cigarette-wreck
"We need to talk"
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| I.
I walk the streets, the -gangs and -gasses
without a name, or with it tucked in my foreign-cut coat
a name tangled in the sounds of my native tongue
mangled in the mouths of officials here
who, tapping impatient pens, wonder I don't come gleich
when they call me to their desks
The grocery girl, das Lebensmittelmädel, hates me,
doesn't have time for me to fumble with check-out-request-and-reply formulas,
with the funny-colored paper and coins
and all I want: bread, butter, soup, and beer
and all I want:
and all I want: someone, jemanden
a thousand-lonesome-miles-by-September-night-and-morning-train someone
II.
But I'm learning the language here
by 10-euro Gesamtwerke
Rilke's picture-book poems, songs from Bachmann's Bohemia lost
Wenn die Uhren so nah wie eigenen Herzen schlagen
The hours chiming/beating as near as my own heart,
the one sent a thousand miles back in a letter
I'm no longer in-love-withed
Ich will nichts mehr für mich
I want nothing more for me
Ich will zu grunde gehen
I want to go to ground, to be destroyed
to be taken on the next U-Bahn
not within, without
it can wear my skin as well as I,
but November here comes cold
and leaves me no train
keinen Zug
home
III.
Men walk by with their lives in bags
women wait on benches with their heads in hands
Böhmen forever lost, endgültig vergangen
Time, our exile
The ending year warms its bones in spiced rum and glühwine.
orphans everyone
The rain makes the sidewalk schein.
widows the women
The moon swims the river nachts naked, pale and rein.
leaves the men silent-standing.
When the first snow fell, I followed the Flocken ins water
with my eyes, wanted with my limbs over the bridge, into the night,
but I took the stairs,
and when the first snow fell,
I wrote my name in coffee piss
yellow letters on tabula rasa.
Der Schnee mindestens
The snow, at least,
can say it
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| When Lady Sang the Blues
The bed made of brass
the brown in your eyes
the heart on my sleeve
beating blood in your cheek
Back then counting coffee shops and broken cups
dreaming black and white: piano bars
Billie and Ella
: cigarette smoke
like Bogart and Bacall
My hat on tight
your dress on loose
But you were always singing the blues
down from your window
up from my lap
singing empty tables
empty homes
singing what baby don't bleed
baby don't know
Well
sing it soft child
sing it slow
Sickle Moon
Swings
the
sickle
moon
gelid yellow, fallowsallow
through night come on too quick
and Octoberwind follows,
d r a g s the revenant souls howling back to hollow earth
and shiv'ring bones
Swings
the
sickle
moon
to the quick
a firstfrost harvest:
the crickets play themselves out
the last string still
summer's broken violin
Reaps
the
sickle
moon,
silence
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