SECOND URBAN PANNEAU Poem by Ron Winkler

for Tom Schulz
say over, say under, say city, say what
you've seen, say the silvered, mirror-glassed taxis,
that portion the air (some here some there) between
buildings dedicated to building. pretty soon say children,
that, under the supervision of different individuals,
within them hermaphroditic distribution,
have to erase elementary particles. say children look as though
their parents or remaining single-parents
worship Francis Bacon. say Francis Caspar Bacon Kahlo.
say till girls who, during their breaks,
dance in the back rooms of supermarkets
like balinese goddesses without specific
duties. say those involuntary clients
- once victims of impression farmers -, say it to them too.
say that we had symbol-sex
at the north-west star which we also call halfyellowplanet
or called. say that we originate from three
continents at the same time. say that from birth onwards
nearly everybody inhabits a telephone. and doesn't speak about the quarter
of the celibates. it has the form of an almond. almost
like the park you created within my park, an
überpark into which only a few referential buildings
could reveal a glimpse. can. say the egyptiosus'
communion of prayer that dromedise our being, that
tried. say the lover's dionysian breasts
in mild summer nights. say autumn minus two towers.
say civil servants, say winter, drawn with canvas on oil.
say we're coated with digital lacquer. and that
there's no such thing as angora concrete. only love, arranged in
a blizzard of feelings. and devils for want
of devils. say that after a hundred lectures
in the social assistance office you get one free. say: the clouds
always begin at first in the sky. say: every second
Odysseus holds a siren machine to his ear.
say also ballerinas that one and all are
called Eurydice. because at arterial roads
they caress the windscreens of get-away cars.
because it is thus, because it is determined as such. because it is
that which the sinus side of the present presents.
say that. maybe.