For Every Tib and Tom Cat


32. let the street be for whoever walks it

let the street be for whoever walks it

let the street be for whoever walks it

the road is steeping up and my father used to be a great decapitator

so if you got a problem identifying heads by all means ask me

I’m not even tired and the cars parked at the side of the road

damned rusted wrecks if you ask me

I avoid as the devil

so slight and wired and muscular and fast and lissom

am I they bother me none

and if you ask me all those children still alive should be

more or less safe in some kind of refuge

I don’t think any of them is capable of such devastation...

so much destruction

the beheadings and the mayhem

are the fruits of a horde if you ask me

some alien horde that passed this way last night

as nimbly and rapidly and buoyantly as me

I’m passing up this street

kicking heads like flighty balls

and scoring each time with each trick.

Step aside creep

step aside

care not a whit for the spirits of all those hederated heads

I’ve swallowed hairy hurdles bigger than those

of omens forebodings maledictions from the thrones

from the heroes from the nagging bureaucrats

the ludicrous prestiges of the rhetoric-choking pundits

the baggages of elderlies and other degenerated sovereigns

the tremblings of sentries

the blunt steel of audacious fetuses

the rocketry of moot civilizations

the toilsome tread of monsters and antediluvian beasts

let me swither about something else

the void for instance

those blithely stabbed bodies

and then their heads rolling like burdens unbearable

the aim of the intruders

of that I am devoid of ideas


I know who did it and how

but why


but why

that I can’t fathom

perhaps my dad the old decapitator could

but now tough luck he’s dead.

I love the wind

the swifter the better

lifts the girls’ skirts

and with them my spirits.

Let the road be mine

their genitalia such nice whiffs

such dainty chemistry I’m agog the thingamabob hasn’t been used more often

as an ambassadorial tool of magical proportions

so many close shaves so many pins and needles

agonies vexations griefs

irksome undertakings

could have been avoided

nothing bestows peace as cunts that are clean and eager to please.

But now I’m approaching my target

sob little ladies for the lifeless beaus

I’ve got more and to spare smoldering in the lessen caves

where the prisoners were kept

fists and claws dulled and enfeebled

sob sob


while unavoidably the circle widens

while I harvest in unease and bathed in afterthoughts

the fuckers of tomorrow.

Let every walker claim his share

stake his won piece of sphere

call his own the street he walks on

and as he deems right

over his hard-earned ground let him rule

that’s how wars are won

and let’s hope for the wind

the swifter the better

as I sift every trace of reason


as I sift every trace of reason why

and the wind teases my sifting

and perhaps sends it to lands unconquered

of little consequence

lands where my reach won’t land

my scope won’t span

my span won’t reach

for I’ll be sleeping the sleep of the just.

Nothing to be done

but to stake my claim

and stick each head above each stake

while the ponderous thinking gets done

and my running’s still viable

in bursts of sudden joy

as I kick the heads

as I score another goal

between the stakes planted

by the others.

The others

the horde of alien others

whose heads I see rolling of themselves as rotten fruit

down the steep road I traveled

once upon a time

and it was me

it was me damn it was me

who told the investigators I know who and how

but not why

for I had the experience

my father was the old decapitator and if you ask me

I can tell you

only that then they said: Pass!

Never so well

Never so well


anyocs de nyacs!

who the 'ell?

La meva foto
C.R. Morell his paltry efforts,