the sound of shadows

I rest my bleached skull on dusty rocks
as my brain leaks like grape jelly
and the s.f. Foreigner screams to the Swiss Alps.
“Recevez-moi d'ici vous les batards![1]”

appendages reached out- grabbing for moon rocks
in the clear light and was greeted by beetles (prep before burial…)
Too bad he only hoped for peanut butter and more peanut butter.
Turning to me "Why do YOU talk over there! nothing else to DO?"
"I'm speaking with your maker, STOP listening" nosy leech.

why do we speak? I asked shadows expecting at least a whisper.
stupid s.o.b.
No one to answer butts of guns and
bullets made by tiny hands.

A baby bête[2]
leaps from behind scissored grass
Snarling at tadpoles before the hawk found its own meal.
“Maybe in your next life” I heard it say.

“Le français est une langue délicate, eh ?[3]”
That man is dead, he does not care.
Should I ask his corpse?
It has more scent than the shadow. But life? (I’ll get back to you.)

Fear nothing
(but) sound waves and
freezing rain and
chatty Americans.

Serve me my shit on a silver plat’r
And piss from your lookout s.o.b
Do you have friends besides Odie?
I suppose not.

Run back to your buried hostel
and dig, DIG!
I will fish for you off Japanese shores
(if I can afford the vessel…)
and anchor my dinghy with bags of Yen
and avoid your curly fathers banque/банк/banco.

It could never work darling
I only go out on Sundays.
My coinage will sparkle virgin trees
and birds will fly, fly printed and fly colorful from my cage
b’for dive bombing in magnificent splendor.

Will then the world be silenced?
By laughing babes?
The Earth screechingly stops (rotation is a myth)
and makes mankind heave. What a sight!
And now I stop breathing
It is only right.

[1] “Get me out of here you bastards!”
[2] beast.
[3] “French is a tricky language, eh?”