Haiku
Drinking my tea Without sugar —
No difference.
The sparrow shits
upside down — ah! my brain & eggs
Mayan head in a Pacific driftwood bole — Someday I'll live in N.Y.
Looking over my shoulder my behind was covered with cherry blossoms.
Winter Haiku
I didn't know the names of the flowers-now my garden is gone.
I slapped the mosquito and missed. What made me do that?
Reading haiku I am unhappy, longing for the Nameless.
A frog floating in the drugstore jar: summer rain on grey pavements.
On the porch in my shorts; auto lights in the rain.
Another year has past-the world is no different.
The first thing I looked for in my old garden was The Cherry Tree.
My old desk: the first thing I looked for in my house.
My early journaclass="underline" the first thing I found in my old desk.
My mother's ghost: the first thing I found in the living room.
I quit shaving but the eyes that glanced at me remained in the mirror.
The madman emerges from the movies: the street at lunchtime.
Cities of boys are in their graves, and in this town…
Lying on my side in the void: the breath in my nose.
On the fifteenth floor the dog chews a bone- Screech of taxicabs.
A hardon in New York, a boy in San Fransisco.
The moon over the roof, worms in the garden. I rent this house.
Feb. 29, 1958
Last nite I dreamed of T.S. Eliot welcoming me to the land of dream Sofas
couches fog in England Tea in his digs Chelsea rainbows curtains on his
windows, fog seeping in the chimney but a nice warm house and an incredibly
sweet hooknosed Eliot he loved me, put me up, gave me a couch to sleep on,
conversed kindly, took me serious asked my opinion on Mayakovsky I read him
Corso Creeley Kerouac advised Burroughs Olson Huncke the bearded lady in the
Zoo, the intelligent puma in Mexico City 6 chorus boys from Zanzibar who
chanted in wornout polygot Swahili, and the rippling rhythms of Ma Rainey
and Rachel Lindsay. On the Isle of the Queen we had a long evening's
conversation Then he tucked me in my long red underwear under a silken
blanket by the fire on the sofa gave me English dottle and went off sadly to
his bed, Saying ah Ginsberg I am glad to have met a fine young man like you.
At last, I woke ashamed of myself. Is he that good and kind? Am I that
great? What's my motive dreaming his manna? What English Department would
that impress? What failure to be perfect prophet's made up here? I dream of
my kindness to T.S. Eliot wanting to be a historical poet and share in his
finance of Imagery- overambitious dream of eccentric boy. God forbid my evil
dreams come true. Last nite I dreamed of Allen Ginsberg. T.S. Eliot would've
been ashamed of me.
Under The World There's A Lot Of Ass A Lot Of Cunt
a lot of mouths and cocks, under the world there's a lot of come, and a lot
of saliva dripping into brooks, There's a lot of Shit under the world,
flowing beneath cities into rivers, a lot of urine floating under the world,
a lot of snot in the world's industrial nostrils, sweat under world's iron
arm, blood gushing out of the world's breast, endless lakes of tears, seas
of sick vomit rushing between the hemispheres floating towards Sargasso, old
oily rags and brake fluids, human gasoline- Under the world there's pain,
fractured thighs, napalm burning in black hair, phosphorus eating elbows to
bone insectiside contaminating oceantide, plastic dolls floating across
Atlantic, Toy soldiers crowding the Pacific, B-52 bombers choking jungle air
with vaportrails and brilliant flares
Robot drones careening over rice terraces dropping cluster grenades,
plastic pellets spray into flesh,
dragontooth mines & jellied fires fall on straw roofs and water buffalos,
perforating village huts with barbed shrapnel, trenchpits filled with
fuel-gas-poisen'd explosive powders- Under the world there's broken skulls,
crushed feet, cut eyeballs,
severed fingers, slashed jaws,
Dysentry, homeless millions, tortured hearts, empty souls.
We Rise On Sun Beams And Fall In The Night
Dawn's orb orange-raw shining over Palisades bare crowded branches bush up
from marshes- New Jersey with my father riding automobile highway to Newark
Airport- Empire State's spire, horned buildingtops, Manhattan rising as in
W. C. Williams' eyes between wire trestles- trucks sixwheeled steady
rolling overpass beside New York- I am here tiny under sun rising in vast
white sky, staring thru skeleton new buildings, with pen in hand awake…
Hum Bom!
Whom bomb? We bomb them! Whom bomb? We bomb them! Whom bomb? We bomb them!
Whom bomb? We bomb them!
Whom bomb? You bomb you! Whom bomb? You bomb you! Whom bomb? You bomb you!
Whom bomb? You bomb you!
What do we do? Who do we bomb? What do we do? Who do we bomb? What do we do?
Who do we bomb? What do we do? Who do we bomb?
What do we do? You bomb! You bomb them! What do we do? You bomb! You bomb
them! What do we do? We bomb! We bomb them! What do we do? We bomb! We bomb
them!
Whom bomb? We bomb you! Whom bomb? We bomb you! Whom bomb? You bomb you!
Whom bomb? You bomb you!