(on Glitch, titled Image of Red Cut in Half; poem about Peter Frampton(Who:))
Peter Frampton
sits alone in his shriveled black home(hole?)
searching his gruesomely mutated memory for some kind of clue
as to the whereabouts of his penis
he sits on baby, i love your way
and slowly unbuttons his (something) trousers
Slowly, he pulls down his tattered flares
and holds a mirror underneath what once was
bounty, bitch, man (undecipherable)
(??) the mirror with his heavily inverted resolution
fifteen years of (penile servitude??)
between the white (piper and rat heart????)
and the murderer, it is possible to see
(? ? ? ?)
one martyr of an ancient land
execute this preacher's (???)
oooh baby, I Love Your Way!
he touches and he touches, he has nearly won
with a slightly sinking forefinger
the man can't get off!
and searches slowly across this train of thought
in search of a better hopeBu yaz asik olmali
Çalsana benim sarkimi
Simdi ask zamani
Çalsana benim sarkimi
Is isten gecmeden
Yaslandim demeden
Olur mu hiç sevmeden?
Oooff Offf.. Sende is yok...
Oooff Offf.. Sende is yok...
( Çal - Çal, Çalsana Çalkala Çalsana Çalkala )
Çalsana oglum çalsana
Çalkala kizim çalkala
Dünya bile dönüyor
Durma öyle çalkala...
Çalsana oglum çalsana
Çalkala kizim çalkala
Dünya bile dönüyor
Durma öyle çalkala...
( Çal-Çal-Çal )
Önce çaldir sarkini
Dansa kaldir askini
Simdi ask zamani
Dansa kaldir askini
Dur durak bilmeden
Yoruldum demeden
Olur mu hic sevmeden?
Oooff Offf.. Sende is yok...
Oooff Offf.. Sende is yok...
( Çal - Çal, Çalsana Çalkala Çalsana Çalkala )
Çalsana oglum çalsana
Çalkala kizim çalkala
Dünya bile dönüyor
Durma öyle çalkala...
Çalsana oglum çalsana
Çalkala kizim çalkala
Dünya