deepundergroundpoetry.com
hornworm tobacco mosaic
When reduced to the rubble of our disenchantment
the lantern slants weakly upon the fragments,
conveyer of endless ascensions and redactions.
here every body shares a vague opinion
against this age of untimely assassins, a pendulum
scythes the harvest. scythes the energy
and the cadence down to sweet nothings
spilled crimson upon the sidewalk. O
here we meet at a great loss of sensation.
royally flushed! the mind recoils, distorted.
and i am left to beg: oh take from me, oh ye, all human semblance!
the thousand thousand details of our species.
for i shall not remiss the violence,
nor sustain your dowry of illusion.
fold us again oh lordly lord,
with a bang and whimpering hemorrhage .
these walls that were days
inching inward to the music ,
O Misty Love, here where the dull gold corrodes
morn upon morn corrodes
to find us awake, astride ourselves,
down these strong bodies of the living
sown up with organs of the long dead
whose old-new scars are the penance
of life itself, awakened too late to the dying.
i recall just now, the lurch of the deck and itching skin.
i recall her hair was braided rows of molten bronze
as she traced the poem of her palm
into the void heart of the machine
dug in the dung, the dirt, & the mud
where the unrequited splay of the blood is a spectral appearance
& is consistent with the wounds of the patient.
OH love love love in meek service i search the fever'd mind
without sight or intent. i heed the western wastelands and concur,
as the worm turns with faint praise against the muck ,
ever prodigious in the pulpit of earth.
here i inhale the moist cradle of dawn
and her joints become my own.
verily verily verily the pulp of our sun arches
against the edgeless universe and smolders
a pyre of our hours away.
Here we move in straight distortion.
& Puff in profile.
to address the wounds of the wound dresser
we become a fire-fight & such smoke on the wind,
winding down city streets
and alleyways beginning to end.
& Here the jazz acids of negro night explode
all down the shivering Alameda west.
as we watched the crude heart abscond with itself
to bend again upon the break of day
whose gradual thoughtless sufferings display
our dazzling burden of bones,(grimaced in lack or luck)
and the curious face of God drawn in mahogany lines,
drawn in daisy chains, and ropes of animal blood
& the thread of one becomes................
the punk edge of his drunk lip or hers which brushed mine
black-on-blonde down the booker's waltz
from old A t' iron Main
we jammed the Stooges brightly
down faint terrestrial MacArtrrr mazed&dazed
to eight -eighty -ought
& thus deposited us thusly
in the sub-strange-terranean-slush of 16th
Strt. or near e'nough
& i watched
bloody old poet men and scabs
gathered in coffee shops and stray liters of rags
near bore me back to death i say !
(one must be absolutely maudlin, remember)
but i'm just a modern guy! O
........and again the thread of one becomes
those threads of another which become
those treads of another becoming
yours in turn becomes mine
so forward ho!
! you know
the machine wont feed
itself
moreover nor absorb
that warp of manimal tongues
which seeks to crack the literal mind
down to dust.
& \the thread of one becomes
threads of another becoming
those treads of another becoming
yours in turn becomes mine
in turn
and we talk fair terms
in a language unspeakable
and we walk brotherly upon
and we walk sisterly upon
the grass and sand of mother earth and
the thread again becomes
immense and harmonious and spins
speechless parallel spirals
speeding thru the patterns and variations thereof
and the lips we kiss blissfully with
drink the wine we find
within ourselves
becuz im just a modern guy! &of course ive
drowned in her rivers where the whole enormity of eternity reclines,
exploding vividly in ropes magic, iridescent and tragic,
before our eyes intuitive, pragmatic and radiant;
and altogether sparked sun-ward into pendulous paradises
of kaleidoscopic consternation .
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