Three poems by A.J. Kaufmann

A short run

Buying used LPs at Prenzlauer Berg
German rock mostly, some modern drum beats
smoking grass with the store owner's underage daughter
under heavy curtains of her Sabbath backyard, enthusiastically fucking, giggling: the hookah was enormous, experiencing the mort in Montmartre
drinking with Dalida... Embrasse-moi... and beyond
a martyr for all things forgotten, leaving a single tear
on her ghost breast palace, climbing dead bridges jumping off garage roofs near motel
chasing pink-blue boa scarves
suicidal alchemist's notebooks obscure
and dada remainders of freedom
at Madrid's crowded impromptu
second hands, markets, whistling at buses & little Latinos
losing black pens at Baltic Sea, burning papers, changing skin, finding blue shells just to fill their sea white noise
with sand-words of mine, never mine
while Calita would sketch me in pencils, never hers
how sad in our hopeless run
for all things and memories preservation

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Jug painters

Vibrant angelic jug band blisters raga immediately
commencing their banjo volares
epiphanies of meat bag composites, lick my eye socket
blind, play insanity games with those lucky painters next door, posing them nude in their armpit boudoir
art deco extraordinaire cunts
suddenly a slaughterhouse evolves out of even slightest
brush touch, exposed, hooked on Dali
while in cafes outside we sit barefooted
writing lines on the bartendress' Singapore-shaped
exalted legs, sighing how life is so urgent

+++++++++++++++++++

Eve

The flower of Orient, fixed
in Remington's entrails
tells the tale of immortalized mothers
under snowing hordes of sky
which fade to shelter her monks
snails of wisdom

The flower of Orient looks back
to see her eyes form patterns
on minaret’s tortuous shrouds
reads under the leafy, vegetable fabric
reads well above her lover's lair
white as cocaine, austere
The Flower of Orient steps down
comes across an old sacred text
moves it around, wraps it up gently
the ages-old Braille
of invisible prophets
writing for fear of death

The Flower of Orient laughs
heart-shaped teeth erupt
in olive skylines, evaporate breath
deliver as predicted
compose according to innocent rules
a new and sour Eve for the times

Author bio:

A.J. Kaufmann, born June 24 1989 is a poet, songwriter and traveler currently living in Poland. He's the author of "Siva in Rags", "I'm Already Not Here", "Pilgrims & Indians" and other poetry chapbooks. A.J. can be found online at AJ Kaufmann and/or at Kaballah Freight Train.