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cigarette smoke.

I am lost in the politics of your love,

   you silent monarch,

  you aching despot,

you bleeding king.

Solace remains lost in your underwear drawer,

     silk and lace poetry,

   pretty cut,

   high and mighty.



I don't know where you are.

You curly boy.

        Sailboats on an orange breeze,

  fade to blackout,



come out of there.

  I am a Pollock when it comes to you,

sweetheart, darling, liebling boy.

Splattered, and shot, and spat upon,

   there is no Indian giving in this game of hearts.

  Alle, alle auch sind frei,

let me go.