—lights out— fall, hands a-clasped, into instan… ecstasy like a shot of heroin or m… the gland inside of my brain disch… the good glad fluid (Holy Fluid)…
Did I create that sky? Yes, for, if it was anything other than a conception in my mind I wouldnt have said 'Sky’—That is why I am the golden eternity. There are not two of us here, read...
The taste of rain —Why kneel?
Tears is the break of my brow, The moony tempestuous Sitting downIn dark railyards When to see my mother’s face Recalling from the waking vision
Butte Magic of Ignorance Butte Magic Is the same as no—Butte All one light Old Rough Roads
Now it’s jazz, the place is roaring, all beautiful girls in there, one mad brunette at the bar drunk with her boys. One strange chick I remember from somewhere, wearing a simple skirt w...
The story of man Makes me sick Inside, outside, I don’t know why Something so conditional
Man is not worried in the middle Man in the Middle Is not Worried He knows his Karma Is not buried
The great hanging weak teat of In… on the map The Fingernail of Malaya The Wall of China The Korea Ti—Pousse Thumb
April doesnt hurt here Like it does in New England The ground Vast and brown Surrounds dry towns
And how sweet a story it is When you hear Charley Parker tell it, Either on records or at sessions, Or at offical bits in clubs,
Sweet sad young tenor Horn slumped around neck Bearded full of junk Slouches waiting For Apocalypse,
The low yellow moon above the Quiet lamplit house.
But a tree has a long suffering shapeIs spread in half by 2 limbed fate Rises from gray rain
Describe fires in riverbottom sand, and the cooking; the cooking of hot dogs spitted in whittled sticks over flames of woodfire