ODE TO KLAUS DINGER

Klaus,

i knew Neu! were for me/dammit Klaus, Neu! WERE me!

i knew it when i about you in Mojo/knew before i EVEN heard you

that was a

a long time ago . . .

Klaus,

reading your obit out loud/its Thursday;

just found it 

but no one here in the working day

cares

but me.

but Klaus, i count for 7 dumb Ignorists barking and

buying tunnel vision in tabloid

for vouchers

for horoscopes . . .

Klaus, 

since i read you died your Apache beats been drumming

binary humming and primal smacking

around my stumbling brain 

and in my heart pumping.

while 

work 

place 

Ignorists say

WE SHOULD BOMB ANYONE WITH A BEARD ABROAD

i quietly say

AREN'T WE?

i clearly see fast sticks wailing Klaus, favourite drummer.

Klaus,

you

invented techno before Detroit and the New York discos

but no one in the work place

knows/cares/is even interested

but 

me.

Ignorists dream of a town without 

A PAKI SHOP

away from high rents and

ALL THE BLACKS.

but Klaus, i am worth 12 of these Living Dead!

Enlightened; your drumming relentless inevitable

one tribal linear heart

makes me FEEL movement FORWARD.

Ignorists imagine an English Enclave/imagine a myth where they

wave flags on

Britain Day 

but

scared Muslims will take

there

money

Christmas away/Easter is bigger to real Christians anyway.

my vague ethos Klaus, is slim beyond words

but your drumming

is its backdrop/its heart/its Monster Metronome

CUMMING.

(and I want someone

to take Christmas away).

i know Klaus, 

you had to bury old Germany.

birth a new land with sound with experimentation

with DRUMMING

like a

like a

like a . . .

. . . soundtrack of late night ineptitude and mushroom cloud delirium when i Klaus, Attempt Art

naked

roll-neck and black smock crumpled interestingly on the floor.

we are only adults Klaus, children

grown to breeding age abusing the earth

like a toy plastic kitchen.

its 4.11am Klaus, and you

tick-tock

tick-tock

like a clock

like mathematical thunder

fuel me.

Klaus, my hands appear real and living for the first time today!

not false and paid for . . .

and

my blind blunt working legs Klaus, march me past every interesting face leaving murmurs of weak hellos

in the faint sparks of my wake; Klaus help ME thru the night. prophetic garbled words

buried above the mix ring out now Klaus,

ring loud like Marx and Celine in my backbrain

as i, trapped in a weird building

become helpless and driven 

stalking

an unknown woman.

i am late Klaus,

can only watch her magic in the car park

from a 4^th story window

and she

won’t

ever

know.

i am helpless Klaus driven chasing fascinated

by her childless body/her unexpected youthful burn

but she

challenged me Klaus, 

she said 

I WOULDN’T LIKE A MOSQUE NEXT TO MY HOUSE, WOULD I?

and while i could only mildly agree

for reasons special to me

i was saddened

to discover

she was BNP.

so Klaus, 

you’re dead/still drumming my heart regular

from old recordings

while

my winter friend gas fire

burns.