Sphincter
I hope my good old asshole holds out 60 years it’s been mostly OK Tho in Bolivia a fissure operation survived the altiplano hospital A little blood, no polyps, occasionally A small hemorrhoid Active,
136 Syllables At Rocky Mountain Dharma Center
Tail turned to red sunset on a juniper crown a lone magpie cawks. Mad at Oryoki in the shrine-room Thistles blossomed late afternoon. Put on my shirt and took it off in the sun
Nagasaki Days
I A Pleasant Afternoon for Michael Brownstein and Dick Gallup One day 3 poets and 60 ears sat under a green-striped Chau- tauqua tent in Aurora Listening to Black spirituals, tapping their feet, appreciating
Haiku (Never Published)
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
CIA Dope Calypso
In nineteen hundred forty-nine China was won by Mao Tse-tung Chiang Kai-shek’s army ran away They were waiting there in Thailand yesterday Supported by the CIA Pushing junk down Thailand way First they stole
Song
The weight of the world is love. Under the burden of solitude, Under the burden of dissatisfaction the weight, The weight we carry is love. Who can deny? In dreams It touches the body,
September On Jessore Road
Millions of babies watching the skies Bellies swollen, with big round eyes On Jessore Road long bamboo huts Noplace to shit but sand channel ruts Millions of fathers in rain Millions of mothers in
Plutonian Ode
I What new element before us unborn in nature? Is there a new thing under the Sun? At last inquisitive Whitman a modern epic, detonative, Scientific theme First penned unmindful by Doctor Seaborg with
Transcription Of Organ Music
The flower in the glass peanut bottle formerly in the kitchen crooked to take a place in the light, The closet door opened, because I used it before, it kindly stayed open waiting for
Sunflower Sutra
I walked on the banks of the tincan banana dock and sat down under the huge shade of a Southern Pacific locomotive to look at the sunset over the box house hills and cry.
Five A. M
Elan that lifts me above the clouds Into pure space, timeless, yea eternal Breath transmuted into words Transmuted back to breath in one hundred two hundred years Nearly Immortal, Sappho’s 26 centuries Of cadenced
America
America I’ve given you all and now I’m nothing. America two dollars and twentyseven cents January 17, 1956. I can’t stand my own mind. America when will we end the human war? Go fuck
War Profit Litany
To Ezra Pound These are the names of the companies that have made money from this war Nineteenhundredsixtyeight Annodomini fourthousand eighty Hebraic These are the Corporations who have profited by merchan- dising skinburning phosphorous
Fourth Floor, Dawn, Up All Night Writing Letters
Pigeons shake their wings on the copper church roof Out my window across the street, a bird perched on the cross Surveys the city’s blue-grey clouds. Larry Rivers ‘ll come at 10 AM and
Crossing Nation
Under silver wing San Francisco’s towers sprouting thru thin gas clouds, Tamalpais black-breasted above Pacific azure Berkeley hills pine-covered below Dr Leary in his brown house scribing Independence Declaration typewriter at window silver panorama