by Wynn Heliczer

Karma Song
song from The Missing Beat Project, Wynn Heliczer ©

If all communication breaks down
— I am the poet I am the poem —
I can’t say who I am unless you agree I am real

If what is felt is real enough
— I am the poet I am the poem —
Don’t be afraid to say what you feel

Dad . . . don’t give me this shit with karma you bought at the
supermarket
’Cause you bought it, you bought it at the supermarket
My dad did good after his death
Unfortunately that was the best marketing . . . marketing . . .

What should I think if you’re not there again
Out of sight out of mind honey
That became the message
I can’t say who I am unless you agree I am real

But what I felt is real enough
Out of sight out of mind honey
That became the message
I do love you but it’s not that I kneel — likewise, daddy!

Don’t give me this shit with karma you stole at the supermarket
’Cause you stole it, you stole it at the supermarket
You, dad, did good áfter your death — mark it! —
Unfortunately that was the best marketing . . .
THE BEST MARKETING IS TO DIE

Now as a poet I can crown you my dad
You are the poet   You are the poem
Fortunately now I can make you my own

Without your smell of carelessness
I am the poet   I am the poem
My father the artist now shares his crown

yes, ’Cause I don’t need your shit
I’m the one Who’s alive nowadays and Karma goes a looong way
I will do good after Your death with Your legacy I am Your legacy
And that’s MY marketing . . . marketing . . .

I wanna do it now — I wanna do it good — I wanna do it while I’m
still alive . . .

by Wynn Heliczer

L’Underground C’est Moi
song from The Missing Beat Project, Wynn Heliczer ©

L’Underground c’est moi monsieur
disappear down below with me
Je te veux voir, maintenant, tout–a–l’heure
If I go way back, I smell your scent
And I’ll let you rest in peace

L’underground c’est moi, it’s me
A glowworm in my closed hands
I walk & I dig, I plow & I flee
Find holes in everyone

Go back in time, experience in reverse
Get to know what is his, what is hers
I open my hand, show it to you
Funerals are for glowworms now

C’est dark ici, a sparkle of silver
Look in my eyes for more
Look deeper into me the deeper we go
We’re not very far yet, oh sir

Le ciel–heaven will find itself among us
Then & now a column of white smoke
…
tu me manque and I miss you too
tu me manque and I miss you too

Go back in time, experience in reverse
Get to know what is his, what is hers
I open my hand, show it to you
Funerals are for glowworms now
Funerals are for glowworms now
…
tu me manque and I miss you too

by Allen Fisher

Milan*
from Properties

When you make violent handbags
the pressure of fear and
cut skirts into car–wash pleats
you mime edges of the austere
a fold in rainfall

Your commitment towards culture
communities your thought nexus
sustains provided damage
an ‘as is’
and ‘as available’

Harmless from collective quiver
derived or caused by
your investment integration
with local materials in a new
tremble a working commitment

*Miuccia Prada, sole creative director (until July 2020) of her family’s leather–goods business Prada since 1978, lives in the same Milan apartment she grew up in.

by Allen Fisher

Hampstead*
from Properties

When you’re inside your limits
and want to hold on
you don’t need reassurance
to help you find out where you are
as you worry about others

You sink into a purple armchair
you want to keep happiness
an orderly home with flowers
and paintings of flowers and a jug
crumples of bright pillows

You go to your new home
before slow re–writing rewiring
Nature morte a terrible term for still life
now free speech informed consent
now worthy trust

*Hampstead in London is where Onora O’Neill lives now she has retired from Cambridge and left her Islington family home. She is the one of the philosophers of bioethics, duty and justice and has increasing concerns regarding social media.