Arby's Legacy

He had the wind in his pocket and some old tunes on his shoulder while under his arm was an unraveling bag of wistful fragrances. Cinnamon snatchings graced his gait, and the waders he wore wrote floppings along the ruts as he slowly strode to the east mouth and the river rubbed against his leg with static passings of wit. Whether man's capacity for insanity makes him superior to the other forms of life and lingering, trying to make a dent in the planetary circle and relieve some of the trials that have been twisted to songs of lolling lilting lament. Sharp distance solving tribunals of redmonging craft while wavers winsomely wait and spin to the halting rhythm of an unsure civilization. The grabbers will be gone, and he will walk on to another valley and another circumstance, but the result will be the same: the flies will burn their blue metallic buzz around our woks and some will come to praise the crooning catapult allure that brings some to chance flying and others to swoon while the rumblings of the number wars build fright into each suffering and small pricks in the ceiling let in lights of redeeming and the roar of a zonophone's reply lackadaisical alliteration pries into the weeping groper's dreams of worth and might, but could be would be a word for all seasons, but it is not, and we still don't see. Some are still screaming, and some still care, but they are still there. He had passed through a wheat field whose Midas fantasy brought him to think of days when there was nothing but fulfillment reining the storm of broken doubts and spider paranausea, but children and those who haven't set yet were the ones who saved his collection of decayed form in a shop on the eleventh street. He escaped in the dark of a renewal on the eve of a sigh and all the crossings that he passed were erased when he went again. Prosaic whittlings in redundancy of forlorn bedragglements on the palisades of the final whim in the graffiti master's home which rests on the side of a hill where the rabbits hole and the shingles are splitting, and no one's put out the trash tonight, but there is a good show on channel one with the big eye and an edsullivan gleam to make your teeth wider and your steps shorter, but he has walked for days now, and his coat is still wet from sleeping in a pear tree's snuggle when the dew found him and made mischief in the dimming dawn, but he's whistling one that his father taught him when he caught him with hairy hands on a forbidden spoon when he worked nights for IT&T, and the smoky yellow city haze tickled his throat and told him to watch out because the pigeons were planning something for the next summer. He lingered upstream near the rapids an ate a lunch of bright pieces of glass and colors that he had grown, but somebody thought that he had found them before he left, but that couldn't be right and neither could the airplane, but two of them made one, so where is the conclusion? I didn't ask him where he was going, and he didn't ask the direction, but he may have known my sister's dresses on the line meant for him to dance in the sod, but when we're all bojangles the breezings cannot be accommodated by a few loose wishes for forgiveness and nothing can be understood when there is moss all over each tree.

Auto da Fais Deaux-Deaux

We go in circles burning

Learning what we can

Yearning for another second

Turning point of man

Spurning last night's dreams

Earning less what seems

A drink

A cup

A throwing up

Haven't the foggiest

Keep the change

Ayego

A demise of salt and dust wakens jerking breath

Of sorrow to give ones life the great taste test,

And a chilly wink surreptones for final chance.

At what? Perhaps another race around the millstone?

Perhaps to hear and to see and to feel again?

Perhaps to find sparkle in a few more crystal instants?

Perhaps to swoop, swagger, sway, and swoon

To the jingling chatter of our mad piper?

Perhaps to exchange silhouettes with

The pattern juggler for a brief synecdoche

Perhaps to pass through moons and Junes unloved?

Perhaps to go forth with my paperclips

And try to get everything together again?

Perhaps to forgo all vanity and perhaps

To find that surface which will strike me

Into fiery action to meet warmth and light?

We take our ration of conceptualizations

And make our concepts of rationalizations,

For it's the face in the glass that is trying to fool us.

But once again it has shattered,

And slivers of truth pierce through

The dearthen crust of self-deception

Who dat say who dat when I say who dat?

Stetson peril chortles huck, and the war goes on.

Drop every fork at each alarm and run.

But each time to come back and eat more garbage.

But to run and laugh free and wild and joyous?

How about you? Free from the strain and twist.

Perhaps to find grace and forgiveness.

Perhaps to take each step upwards and forward.

Not to backslide fearlessly but startle the clots,

Break their barricades, menace their mindlessness,

Throttle their delusions, and give them love.

Perhaps we can open each other's eyes

To the light which is for all.

What individual can lay claim to the truth?

Basilisk

Down in the ground in a very dark tomb

The trolls are preparing our hero's doom

The basilisk waits on the mountain's height

With the moon a grinning asphodel of night

And patience weaves as the engines hum

For it's a very long time since he's seen his

Home, but he flicks his tongue as he waits

And thinks of the brazen chests he shattered

And the clammy mists patch the barrows below

Where the ghouls moan and chatters of purgation

Bring a cease to breath but the fantasy on

The summit broods on six thousand years

Since the hellhounds' massacre and anxiety

Frasches forth a swirl of brimstone vapor

Amid which the inner eye is embedded in a prism

Of habit and the predecision awaiting the

Seventh millenium. There is a slow stirring

In the air setting off a churning that the

Long years of like experience have not yet

Been able to dull for life that has been so

Dearly won is prized as a Cremona guitar.

A 1948 Les Paul with just one Humbucking

Through a ten-watt English Vox only turned

Half-up charging bounding on pogo heels

Coursing pure sound and vibrating energy

Through frail membranes injecting the germ

Of total sensation that scourges during

Certain years when bedsores and chants

Are the legacy that the elders reap from

Their doting in the markets. Wonder amid

Scorn and valor and incomprehensible rushings

Warping speakers and splintering bounds

And promises to the dealers. But there is

A progression running in the background

On skid row and he's frightened so much

Like on the streets of a late show

And as he shuffles into the velvet

His adversary is seen in the foreground

Who shares the countenance of our eventual

Friend but I fell asleep on the couch and

Couldn't see the rest of the show for

When I woke up to the snowy buzz and

Raging of the Cyclops because they don't

Even like to be kept awake, so I turned

It off and switched the light off behind

Me and went to my room and on to bed.

They were excavating a corridor to find

The remains of him they had so righteously

Done to deed to and finally he was uncovered

And they shuddered as the last drop of blood

Dripped from the eye of the monster

They had trapped and conquered.

Calcium

I am a halogen rocked into rote: my nature.

Light metal erotic apocryphal synlapse: dream.

Phonetic dispersion on a frenetic excursion:

Constant: trying: ludicrous: droll: cold.

Daydream nightmare with a machine fetishist: white.

Forgotten properties when the deed is done:

Spin: shim: breakdown: evade.

I haven't the foggiest.

Period relation stasis agitate.

Nonrepresentational loads of consideration:

Involve: evolve: digress: die.

My friends are looking for scopes.

We own the conspiracy

Making the world safe for hypocrisy.

I am a chemical not held responsible.

Evacuate your bones.

Hands tilling cream jolly.

Make a course through it.

Is there really a border?

Rubber-blanking-bands.

You're not in the barracks.

I won't give up.

A Case in Joint

Their merthiolade dewdrops could not do in

For the rain of redeeming: they were allies

In a picaresque milkdreaming sort and in

Ravishing, lavishing, ravaging their wit

Stood gaunt and bare against the fiery gusts

They waited, they watched, they wove,

They angered the thoughts of necessity

And ration against their tangling stealths

Clockwork jumblings of known events

Were a specialty of sorts and wisps of

Their webbing were found on every stair

They stole an alphanumeric system leaving

All the beggars in alms way a balsam

To quit their grievings and pass the time

This way so that we may live alone

Starfighters from the perfect end breaching

No precepts yet loving still and breathless

Can there be yet another solvent in easy

To digest form and five fruit colors in

Flavors savoring the rest for a time

Less demanding and more productive

Dyli and dali as much as they may

There is no one quicker or less sure of dying

(the fever squad comes forth) sally faster

there are dates in the north and the plaster

is cracking but the party will call an end being suppository to consumption they jest with the manufacturers for their strokes

coincite the break coming round their stakes doldrum cravings and cartoon ravings while wrath and wroll keep a wet beaniepopper

starring the old codger and the checkered demon

it's all done by massaging the medium and letting what's down in front come free our warriors are past temptation and will

yield to a hearty resolve if the slender fingers will stay their drumming while the toes catch up with the tadpoles

the pyridium orange has come again

draining the chancres lingering foxfire

pearly comments kneaded with consensus

I'll be home to vote.

Chains

Proliferationmigrationconstipation

Dress right! Get those arms up! Cover! Cover!

Tutelagecerebrationdressless.

An ontological objectivity void of sound

The roaring deaf. Humanistic?

Our delegates carry the top-heavy.

Metamorphosistransmogrification.

Overcome, but how uninvolved?

Hard work? Sure! The salt of the earth

Make my existence possible.

Dealingshufflingstrainingrelaxing.

I seek comfort and you concern.

We all have little murders in mind.

Lifehopejackasswench.

Lewd sings the cookoo:

88 pages of titillating Vibra-Color!!

We have a machine of such design as to increase

The proportions of certain extremities.

Step forward, please. What is your pledge?

Moonlightdejection.

Aha! Sir Percival, surely you jest!

Pan gong! Ship-ahm-ni-da!

The legislators have convened for a special

Emergency session tonight and will soon

Be addressed by the chief executive.

You know you can't order that!

Crabsnecessitydinner partyshroud.

When I close my eyes, there is a big drive-in

Movie in my heard. I check for holes in

My eyelids. Popcorn? Suds? Prophylactic?

The government should not interfere with a

Person's private concerns and investments

And concentrate on dope and pornography.

You're gonna love it to death

Summer Sunday coke float at Grandma's afternoon

(somebody wants my job)

and Top asked me why I never went up for

Soldier-of-the-Month (woowoogatefold).

Relegationcontainmentquestionapostrophe,

Ligament & cartridge & policy & long. Dern! Urn?

I used to play games with words, and what I took

To be verbal acrobatics impressed most

As literary contortions. Unowatamene?

Take a jik-jak course

Impolite! I must say.

But you're not supposta do that in a movie

(See if it's in the trunk!)

speaking of elephants harhar

I'm a master of digression.

Speakeajy, pal, and it'll come slow

Swamiji, pal, and it'll show (are you coming?)

Stir it up again, Sam, and see what the politicians

And the rest of the beggars and patricians say.

Dotdotdota parenthesis of wit is without

I'm sitting alone in the office, and the pages

Of a phonebook rustle and flop to the fan

Somebody else has my typewriter

Can I buy an amplifier on time?

I never want to get up in the morning

Or come back from lunch

I need some crayons.

one nation invisible

Abbie figured that we would be cynics to Che

I think he may have been right

We are to him, too, and frankly bored,

Detached and uninvolved and disgusted

I said I wasn't interested in politics

She said she didn't want to talk about it

That's wrongshe didn't say anything

That infuriated meam I doing the same

My baby even left me; never said a word,

But whose doorstep did I leave her on?

The first page of this was a prelude,

But now we're getting into the real

Nitty-gritty from the Crescent City

With His Majesty Sammy G

Eighty-eight three on your dial, chile

With the wild child of the Nile!

Do you know "Mountains of the Moon?"

Chiller

Kayak gliding along in the cool and calm

Silence setting an edge on the chill

Paddle dip dip dipping

Bow cuts forward slicing the still surface

Cold and clear

Ripples foaming forth

Dissipating in the distance

Becoming smooth

To crystallize into ice

Flakes flurry on the shore

A sign of prey

Docking, setting feet on shore

Harpoon poised,

Hurling, striking, spurting

Warm life melting snow

Crimson stain in the glinting glare

Lash the prize across the thwarts

Unbalancing the bow

Heading homeward

To sustenance and sleep

Tomorrow fish may be the prize

I'll see myself in glassy eyes

Their destiny my indifferent duty

Doublaxcent

Some dude's been trying

To sell me Brooklyn Bridge:

He don't own it.

With all his heart he tell me,

As I watch his neck crane:

Take my chance:

While the tumbling waters'

Mouthing foams dance:

Take this domain.

Where's your wit, man?

I watch the East River

Go churning; flow below.

What can I offer?

All that I can stand?

All that I can

Tuli! A wild droppling howl.

He tried to cut the chord.

Jumped or fell or

What the hell

What the fug?

They drag him on bored.

Once hoisted,

He's extended straight

Artificial respiration

Why couldn't wait.

Disturbing the peace.

No contest. No verdict.

Forgotten Jewelry

I got confused last night

When the light was flicked

Through my eye and careened

Past the primary synapses

Making sparking strides on chance

To its destination in conscious libido.

If you believe that, wait for this:

I couldn't make up my mind

Whether I wanted to or even

If it was worth it or not,

But it was too easy to shoot

In the first places and others.

Does it matter what is sake or soul?

If I question, can it be possible

For me to find what I know?

Can that question in its entirety

Be subtly unique enough for an answer?

And then room is made for the

Absentees and a list is produced

For reference in next weeks' bout.

Jung and Kildare kissed it

Fast but not thoroughly enough,

And the polycat rolls loose.

Heavy Music

I haven't written for a while; I could be waiting for

Something forgotten or perhaps not certain but still pressing

And pooling brave by the old ones for a lack of shade

Texture arises and objects of danger aspect curious

Stomp scarf welcome well. Have I lost the current?

Or was it in the pie he took?

Do you cringe in embarrassment

At such a pretentious presentation?

Have I seen god at a higher speed?

Are they always looking for someone else smash sorrow!

Take a break to get some sleep or check it out down in the cube

Bubble invert buy a new fatigue

Break a lone and don't be late

And mother of god please care

Why waste words when a simple

Expletive is love and acceptance

There still aren't any pictures

Is there still someone to talk to

I can indulge in inanity and the weed of the week,

But what does our hero have to say?

(he drops dead)

Its getting thinner and brighter

Threshold is overused but becoming a short pause while I plod

As long as we've talked of values we still have not arrived

With any nonincipient tranquilities

I know it's in me

The circumstances of release

I can feel the caged lightning

But aren't I all real and valid

Sometimes often suppose err

It's time to lie on the floor

The mirror's dirty, and I should

Clean my glasses, too

--- oil on a brush burn

"doncha evah lissen to da radyo"

Helicopter

I was supposed to go home

Tomorrow, but I changed

My mind because it was all

Too shaky for such dubious

Claims to stardom and release.

I'll turn twenty-one in prison,

But who's got the parole for my next?

Freak speaks and then is busted

And sent to the tanks. Can one

Spring the monocular past

Their stilted triumph built on

Bodies and time shredded

Into compact and easily digestible

Numeral form so that they

Can fool themselves into

Smug sleep behind their props?

A johnnykin splits scarlet

Down the hairline and the part

Throbs to the pitching wail.

Spectacular contortions arrested

By careful slystones jump

Incredible through their port

Or safety to callous mesas

Upon which they perform rites

To an everlasting saint

Whose name they do not know.

The heat chuckles and clocks

For further gains so that

Interest can be eluded

And frostchains be put

On the gristlayer's sons.

Some closed their eyes when

They charged in Chicago, and

Sprayed at Kent and My Lai.

Jerrycan Shrug

Tired blood traded on the highway's stripes,

Pete Townsend's patented Gibson SG smash

Signify to us a time in which to dash

The engines and extradite the superhype.

Concrete communications

Disturb our relations:

Pebbles in our pool.

I'm such a fool

Thinking I can write;

Alone at night,

No one in sight;

I've got to fight.

It's just my freedom --

So much that counts

And what amounts

To bringing me home

Again.

Dash it and you and the total mundane;

I'm foaming at the mouth again,

And the dewdrop enters

The stream of the sea.

It's surely not me;

I've got work to do.

Magic Numbers 0539

Who is this eye Can you see the sulking

Who lives in this body Spectre that lies within self

Who sits in this room Does dharma approach your 1?

That is part of this house Merry, merry for some contrary

That lies on this continent Being to emerge within.

That clings to this planet When did the battle begin again?

That revolves in this solar system How many questions/answers to find

That is a point in this constellation Will creep to the fore of mind?

(For perhaps we are only Promotion or solitude is it?

That to some of the others.) You cannot be known.

That swirls in the midst of this galaxy Strange grace joins normal.

That resolves itself among this cluster If it is approximately

That negotiates within this Calculated, the space between

Group of matter/antimatter Will be much smaller than

(For perhaps we are only The average-sized alligator gar.

Antimatter, and, therefore, Oh, if you would count for

That which cannot be reached Astrology, you should go

Or ever possible to some.) For a break in the light.

That participates in this universe Concern and consternation

Which could be but a spark Rule free over part of our lives.

On a humongous wheel turning There are great limits

On a stern astronomer's telescope, To our understanding

Or could it be a microscope? And mutual perception

Are we the final stage of evolution Of each other

Has the apocalypse been approached? As we make love.

Rue, rue, rue your plight.

May Day: Various Episodes in the Paradox

Canto I

Argument: The author finds too any people hung up on insignificant points which amount to little but aesthetic quibbles. He has read a poem by a friend, and it grieves him to find one so disturbed over nothing. What one calls suppression is what the other longs for as freedom and opportunity. Perhaps attitude is important.

L'entrée or L'Enfant

But they I like to throw these in every once

Can gleam in a while because they have

Faster an intellectual appeal, and anyhow

Than your such things are making a lot of

Color-words money these days.

Can shoot. "Very funny, Mr. Snoid."

What I'd like to do and what happens next are two

Things you won't second-guess, but what if

You could visit me here. It's the same color up and down.

Or should I have said &? As long as I have

A monkey woman, a wrapcity can be in no other color

Or language. Lemon-squeezers and egg carton

Humorists won't even deny that. I didn't have

Much to say in the first place, but do feel that there

Is more to be experienced. James Marshall sez:

"Dot, dot, dot and blah-blah woof-woof." But then

someone tries to tell him

about guitars.

I know it's absurd,

but that is why

I wrote the following

poem.

To Donovan ----

I think that your first assertion

Begged the question in that

Even you must not be so stone-blind and

Sealed away unto himself (More Phenergan)

To accept that blank is chic

Among coffee and bridge and that

Our kids will smoke legal grass.

Do you ever consider that reality, materialism

And Objectivity flow into each other? Ducks all.

For what other point is there a Mr. Natural or myself

Than to keep your heart forward and not

So ravaged as you may take it in your words

Or countenance to appear, and you can cope with it,

But then, what are appearances worth anyhow?

I think you want grace and color words and

To capture a bit of the fiber of validity.

But does it lie in ugliness? Or can

Absurdity achieve much the same with so

Little in the way of malignant side-effects

Upon the self. For that matter, Ducks all again.

Draw back a while, let the quiet in, and you will know.

I hope you do not take criticism for competition.

There is more than that which I want

To say, so I'll get on into it:

I doubt that "Slicky Fingers" would amuse you

Or that you would admit to more than what lies

Between Delcambre and Basile.

I can get tok-san hap-smoke dingy-dingy

And throw words together as well as anyone.

But I think that this is important enough

To stow all Milhous-jive and say it on out.

Maybe you feel your subjectivity a bit acutely

Without having found it: A squirrel cage.

Your profs didn't cut your balls, but if you

Don't like them, then just go ahead and burn them.

You may not know about rampant beggarism

Or the Spec 4 Mafia, but believe that the

Army is putting out more revolutionaries

And heads than any other organization in the world.

So don't think social lobotomization is so widespread.

Does it frustrate you that they reason away

The essence? Would you want

Them to be afraid of you?

You can't ignore the heaving potency

Of the world, nor do you know what suppression really

Is. --------------------- from "The Grey Castrati" 2/2/72

(Try the clip and paste method on this one, kids!)

Canto II

Argument: The author has a very bad sinus condition and wonders if one of his ancestors or past lives may have been a vampire or, worse still, a toadsticker. What this has to do with the poem is debatable, but the sun still rises and sets. He reflects on his current condition and situation and tries to decide how the circumstances can be reversed. Depression is refused entrance once again.

Where's everyone booking?

My Korean friends do not understand my comix

Or drawings, and feel that loneliness is

The all-pervading factor in my poems.

I would not say so, but who am I to judge?

It's perfectly Natural to say, "What the

Blank is happening?"

I wonder how much of this can go unexpurgated.

"Anyone using this material for purposes of

Erotic excitation will be

Considered subject to fetish."

A lot of people think that dudes are naturally

Cool (but that can't be, even if they are Freds)

But never are close enough long enough

To see how much is façade and affectation.

So strike up your cause and book along

And you may run into me next-time-around,

But I am still one for the individual.

Tell me the subject of the above and

The 17th President of the US in 25 words

Or less, with an order of smackwater on the side.

Canto III

Argument: Misogynous lycanthropy. An alligator friend reminds the author of a reference to the Rolling Slones. Weights and measures cannot deny the presence of overriding factors. Beatniks are brought up again, and also a salty dog. The author's critics are informed that the aerosol can be ordered by mail to prevent embarrassment.

For all the girls

I hope you are not so crashed out

On reality that you cannot afford

A wet dream at times. I just try

To be inoculating, though it could be

Tried and effective by blacking out

Offending superstrictures to their meanings.

You wouldn't even know what I'm saying

Now if it hadn't been for some pride

That doesn't reveal whatever could be

Purposely obscure. Are all Pounds present?

Dean spanned two generations of the pelvis,

But his life was not unflawed, though he

Tried to develop The Laugh. (God help him.)

So who are you to go cutting through each

Other? What are the political aspects of aesthetics?

Be my friends, print my words, laugh a bit

At me and at yourself and you might

Find that it can be fun, too, and

Does not have to be so heavy all

The time. Box joints preside in this show.

Shoot Her Again, Sam

A quivering viscoid of someone's thumb

May prove to be your end. What do you

Expect after Ionesco and 200 Motels

I have a lot of fun with it, but still do

Not understand why it is against their law.

Everyone gets a bit wierdie every once in himself.

If the numbers surprise you, see what else he has.

Go ahead. Stick your head into it.

It won't hurt for that long, and then who's to know?

(Blown away again.)

"How many moons and how many Junes

Has it been since we made Love?"

(The house lights come on.)

Jack-a-ninny stole a penny

So who are you to pick apples?

They even sell Hindoo potions in aerosol.

Here's something to think about the next time

You puke: pointless is as pointless does

And that can/will never expend itself.

Canto IV

Argument: Up until now all messages have been in the majority cryptic. A dialogue develops in which the author contends his uniqueness of that beyond substance and the priority of salvation. All heart proceeds from there. The opposition will manifest its main weapon as cynicism and try to set the author up as a Cassandra. Perhaps he does have certain delusions of grandeur, but do not tell him that there cannot be more than one Batman. All proceeds will go to maintaining the municipal code. More can be expected to come from that which is still becoming.

Coming Home

Would you agree with someone who cries forth:

"Death is not Where.

It is At, man?" If you caught

The pun send me 25 cents and three

Coupons for your choice of colors,

Which is very much the same as observing

That it is not important to know

What Avedis Zildjian sells, though

They have been with it since 1623.

Actually, there are a lot of symbols

Involved, but then that would be

Another pun. Write 39 Fayette St.,

N. Quincy, MA 02171 and ask

For the set-up book, and then

You will know.

The answer to the first one is still

Inside.

I'd have to be Objective to find it.

The Conspiracy -- Part 47

I think that there is a cold going around.

I had a terrible feeling last night about

Somebody whose name I can't spell, but

It would not help me to mention it, so

I'll just have to read more essays

In self-destruction

If I an expect to sing a song of joy

And peace for you.

It's not really so dull, but the snow makes

It that way. (Donovan could have his polyphonic

Ravings here for a change.) Polyphonic, my Eustatia!

So, what if I were to tell you it is a plot?

Would you show my poems to your grandmother

At the Crack of Doom? What about hers?

That does not necessarily mean that it is

Contaminated, but don't you think it

Rather ridiculous when faced with such large spiders?

This is meant more as a sensual and

Emotional experience anyhow.

If there is anything to you

You'll end up in your own images,

Grey, yet free to die.

2000 may not be so bad for glory.

Canto V

Argument: An apology is rendered for something which has burned through and is recognized as that which burrows within all. Music by the Solar Arkestra or perhaps Pink Floyd. All should come as they are. Everything is evident at the end of a fork. Pattern-jugglers commit various atrocities for the amusement of the audience and certain people are tripped. Pseudo-commercialism ruins everything in the finale.

Luncheon in the Garden of Ra

"Come, Photon, tell how time has fared against thee."

As she comes to each one, her imprint is left

Greenly in their retinae

A huge black centipede wanders on stage, seeming to

Be little in the deanxietized sense.

Still, no time for impacted hairs.

We are more than that which we have assimilated.

That is why those who sing of revolution fall so

Short of being tuned themselves, or is that

Different drummer more the fashion this season?

I seem to ask a lot of questions for one who

Knows so few answers and can't even carry

A lullaby. The categories are arbitrary.

As large and as far as that goes, another can serve the same.

Still, when all is said and written, one does

Taste menthol too soon for the

Autumn of his madness to be that

Close at hand. And please, don't worry for me.

If you want to know for sure, I hope you

Enjoyed these, so if you care for seconds

Send 47 cents and your favorite aunt, uncle,

Or Christmas tree to Box 4002,

Radio City Station, rye cheer in good ole

You-know who. (How's that for an omnipotent point-of-view?)

Endeth

Hi there! I'm Curtis, and if you just read the above and found yourself liking it and perhaps understanding it, you may now have reason to doubt my sanity and your own. Mine is past the edge of any doubt. In fact, I went over the edge a long time ago, and I keep trying to pull as many people in with me as I can. That is what the conspiracy is all about. If you did not like or understand the above, we can take care of you, too, because you may have forgotten about the edge behind you.

Mocking an Afflicton

If a man can fly unhampered to meet himself on the other side

Of experience, can he accept that thought which is his rent?

Skip freely and hide the latch.

The witches come from tall abomination to make light

On the mind ice flowing through to brave countenance for the

Nominative factorial which is the watch and making for his

Constipated lies, he whimpers a song for Mother Sun.

A chilly crystal remembrance clings aptly to four branches

Of the Great Tree. That's all we know, but there is a strive

To make points as we skew

Along a plane to the silver conscience.

If a man could or even should understand his disasters

He thwarts carelessly with a ration of too much to use.

Scream pollution and nothing to do, but wait for the

Coming along of gotten. Change sides and there's a promise

To make a better day and jobfull.

Holy did he run but still enough

In passion of grace forestalling

Further penitence on the rock.

John and Abraham too

Going for a fish and a cross.

Judgment drawing ever blind

From cheesing the bribes.

Call back young dog and chase

Your past to a dizzy flamenco.

A grand rumbling hiss for billions

Preceding three seconds of swift

Surprise of complexity in the pink

Devoured by a moray roar

Of seconds on the track.

Not a Soul

Music music musicthat's it now: consternate

We call and are begotten through and awry

With an ill sternum septiclenow in for the Audio/Visual Device

(Fade into Congress)

Now, boys here and speak unto one for I am the Light and Mastur

Communal welling from the tale of chance and mankind with her

Crimson and viol arcs with swarming energons writhing

Streamers of peril past the either onto the droplets of genius

Hissing across the plane of meringue (See Elmo's celebrated

Brain of banana pudding with violent waver lining of the skull

He drinks whiskey coke and croons: "Sentenced to eternal

Déjà vu" ante takes his dieu

Cinder children of the hollow cost while the epoch o' lips

Is upon me tagging my way to the end of a star.)

Alky Swoon and Margo Lay invite you to attend their repast

It lies in a sixties marvel while third generation controls

Their blast. He starts on another machostud epic of

Remorseless meandering: Cha Cha!

The sugar in that water was enough to revive me!

Meanwhile, a beggar advances: Enoh wahuka, you say

I mean---Mommy!

And his crustacean friends scour his bones

There is a problem of lines

And it lies in an array through a field

Of utter description and foresway

Yipes!

Shuttle

Crimson conquistador pulsing atop

Strident jaund knoll of therapeutic tyranny

Which address and what coordinates

Challenge position and lift off another layer

To display a scramble against the swirl?

Out on the rim, a disaster crackles --

Punctual fish doubt flay of anxiety

Quiver hesitantly -- gasp -- swoon -- dissolve

Care of preservation guilty heavy moments

Speed up -- reverse -- continue -- drown

It's fading, and I'm not yet three!

Back to our warrior -- -- -- the plains were shrewn

-- regroup --

Recycle at nul gamma one -- proceed cerosion

If you found bruises around your eyes, would you know it?

Everyband on the green. Asphodel garlands

Sprinkle and mist ether pollen, speckle us

Under making love on the foam (fade)

Hello! Wake up! Somebody! (again) -- Your time is up,

Will you please come in? If you continue to resist

The rooster laughed at me, and I hit him -- another rebound?

but they keep fumbling, so I'm just borrowing

as much time as I can until they catch me.

Keep on keeping on -- I'm coming back to you --

All of you -- and I won't be doing again.

Just trying to grow and learning to love.

Side Two

The thought I have today

Came from far away

And started long ago

Though time in its flow

Bears away many things

And to others, it gives wings.

Much did it erode

Before this episode,

And for all the good we had,

There has also been the bad.

The candle flickers bright

And then dims out of sight

And moons and Junes

And mystic runes

Come and pass away.

What did we ever pay?

The price of experience

Is sometimes great weariness

And maybe thinking all is nought,

But then comes the thought

That as we go

We mus change also

And what will I find

Inside your new mind?

When I return

Will the fire still burn?

An urn full of ashes

Topples and crashes.

Gentle breathing nurses the spark

And then in the dark

It kindles again

And forth comes its flame.

Is it too much to wish

Or an excessive risk

Or could it be worthwhile?

And could perhaps a smile

Or the beams between our eyes

Bring the great sunrise

Of the very first day

When we set on our way?

Silly Jism

Relics of futures that never happened because something died

Or nobody cared fidget like a rainy recess with nervous ticking

And sprays of Afrodesia arranged about the dais completing

The pentangle. Tamburlane struts and fumes while Dorian Grey

Has fallen asleep under Baudelaire's pumpkin and the baccantes

Conspire to give him a hotfoot. The approaching aegis of the

Vizier signals the pageant to begin, but it's still too late.

Twice today have they stepped on another's sacrifice scattering

The entrails into corporate fancy with parsley on the side.

Goblin gloom summons hasty reparations to the summerhouse

While Casper awaits the flagman with a cleaver. Carborundum

Cradle in swooning foxfires brings the cool light we see when

Sitting on the otherinside of a nova watching the darkness

Voiding out. Will evolution be reversed? When will we all

Run back to the big bang or just pass each other near the center? Is it the new gravity or have we lost momentum?

Is the antiworld quickening in our carelessness?

Do all the pollution notices really matter when she unmade

Her mind to do some righteous pain? This is a bust!

Welcome to the big mistake; we knew you'd make it soon/

So what's everyone sitting around all wild-eyed and bushy-tailed

About? Don't you know that there's a war going on, and a great

Multitude of cavities still lie virgin in the mist? I'm short.

And very sorry aren't you two now that we have to start over

Again, but then that is also my name in times of the goat.

Pass the fantasma gore and salt the rest of my accomplishments,

So that when John Sinclair rides a culture vulture the ringing

Will coincite the twirling chain to chant a lie for freedom.

Hollow ringings and still hollower thumps cry fever and dye

Themselves to protest the passing of a plum in the jungle.

Frank Lloyd Wrong built this sage, and we still have the receipt

Sew the morning cannot complain about voodoo. Who do?

A few lines make us feel secure that we are bound, but a comic

Notion becomes free that splices fact with contrarity in the

Blender bender's eyestorms. Shake me awake when she comes.

Short lines. Shorter lives, and even sadder thrusts chuckle

At themselves, and I ask you why we cannot, but then you gave

Us up on the third lap and that was in the spring, so how do

You expect for it to have dried by now? Nothing smells so

Much like you but just accept awhile, and it will all be numb.

Stupid rabbit, didn't you suspect that this wasn't really the

Front, but just something for you to fool the heat? We don't

Make drafts for fun, but for the glad flag's glory and glow.

It's all been undone before, but you didn't know, so it seems

Fresh again while it's really used. And dipped at that.

Déjà vu? Something used. Something dipped. Someone tripped

And fell on his ass to show us all how much we are fools.

How about a free ride?

There

He stood geld/gilt/guilt with a wondrous spangling array of numerous sorts of knobs, dials, lights, and push-buttonsa moment's pausea flicker and buzzYes, Mr. Memory, we are ready. Compute! There wouldn't be no truckdrivers, if it wasn't for us trucks! Dunkirk, wasn't it, that they found out? He painted vortexes into his fans, and though they were all forgotten, still he regretted itforlorn/forewardDirk, Loog, and Atropine carried it between them that all could be blessed with a beneficent virus. Ohm, gad, couldn't it be mistakencan't we throttle the thief!! Arf! Sklar! Beckon strate strait straightI keep running into infectionsI keep falling into pretenses and afterthoughts with vane and proud and cunning for kind of like you know what I mean! Ah, there he goes. He didn't think. He took his dogma, and wrapped in his presuppositions, he took it upon himself to call in the 82d Airborn with four troops of airmobile and mechanized calvary and recalling the 2d Infantry Division from Korea which made such a complete mess of everything that they wee all turned into pillars of salt. They've got these tank traps on all the toads now, and can you imagine all those tons of concrete falling right on top of you. Oh, what? You say you already have the clap! There was something that they were talking about at lunch about kissing frogs and getting syphilis of the mouth and that a detonator cord would take less than 54 minutes to circumnavigate the equator, which is a lot to say in lieu of a siesta, which by the way by and buy bye bye!

Window Pain

Cheap puns come about alright but to come above or beyond together to a point gotten or forgotten together in a mote beseeched, beset, and ill-begotten wraith whirling whispered note calmly overcome and cast quickly off the creech beside.

Often repeated lately forgotten and then restoked humor for blood on the moon.

Carbuncular changling, why do you

Go from ruby to emerald's hue

And like a viscous carnivore salad

Bring forth grief, wan and pallid?

If you could go through such rush

To bring back rose and youthful blush

Can I break past your hush

Or would that be to ask too much?

Counting money or answers sought

Is there a lamia that has been brought

To tear away flesh, soul, and mind

And in her coils my bones will bind?

Flaunting pale breast and born in the year,

The serpent was held much too near,

Though then she seemed much as a worm

Without capacity for such harm

As that which now has me scared

Since first her mordant fangs were bared.

Her choice of victims did not matter,

Venom subdues both puff adder

And any whose lust could kindle

And whose vision by smoke would dwindle.

Stop! You don't know what you've eaten! You think it could make things grow, but it is only you who are made smaller and more vulnerable. What I'm talking about is what you were afraid to think and denied because previous scarrings have thickened the lens and distorted your focus, and if you were not mad,

it wouldn't be written.

Wow, Man! Far Out! Huh?!

Did you ever walk up to someone and you are vibrating and he is vibrating also and this makes you suspicious, so you look in his eyes and you both start to laugh when you realize that you are both just ripped and freaking?? Then he takes a piano out of his pocket and you start to grow; for fortune has cast upon you both to face the swirling vortex. The sound is not clear. It seems to have been swallowed and you wish that it would be polished like burning chrome to flash and drive sparks into internervous channels of speed. Ripped off and on the rack and out on the tiles and gone.

There is a plane sliding in the back. Or is it the inside? Or could it be turning? And it might be going backwards. One can feel it or sometimes when the eyes are close, the charges seem so intense as to grasp all perception.

So where is the joy of coming here? We're going back, but to whom? We may actually fear many, but most probably ourselves. So you drop it, and you're still attached, but it doesn't come back. So you wonder if it is still hanging, or if it will fall and hit, but if it didn't hit and still is going, couldn't it come around? I don't even know what to call this now, but it will come to me. This place is a hotbed of insanity. Perhaps a color reading could be taken. That is not a norbal wall. That wall is far-out at times. It has gotten into the weird by now. Would you send me that book that you had where you wrote thigs down at the festival fall thing? That's an interesting question, indeed. Where did I go? It all sounds important, but I'm going to talk to John Lennon live and in person and ask him if he thinks it all right to go on. That's right. Straight down the left to bullet then right to a draw. Or could that be a tie game perhaps and could it perhaps have been happening all our lives? I think that it could also be foolishness, but who cares to go any further?

'I don't wanna be a soldier, mama; I don't wanna die!"

Check it again and if it can come through the ice and sand, it is an awareness thing that is fantastic and spirals free. Everything is clear in our world, and it took you by surprise that the freaks were freaking me out as they flaked and degenerated. OK. Man, if what you are talking about is peace, then how do you go about doing it? It doesn't stay the same shape as it goes forward, nowhere to turn. It's a corner again, and it's really a bummer that she did it. Scarlet stands at the door and invites into her eye. So what if the world seems tough or a bit worn at the edges.

It's all right that we can rise above into the rare and pure. Cold, clear, piercing fact. Undimmed reality enveloping the whole. I'd love to turn you on! It may come as a mild supposition or an occasion of grief, but the wailing plastic inevitable will spear through. And to think that we could be arrested for being incredible. Actually? Outstanding. (And they are mild!) So what if I go now? All right? I wouldn't want it without considering your feelings. Who feels that a teenage wasteland had prevailed among us? And/or? His humongous catalogue of achievements makes any lauditory appelations applied to him vague and forthright, however quickening. So, if it is a rebirth thing, it could be a good bargain. But then, who is as cast into doubt as you and I? Shouldn't we be together through this?