Will bang & break
Apon the time clock
Beat prow stone bong
Boy
Before I give YOU
An idgit of the
Kind Love Legend”
63RD CHORUS
JULIEN LOVE’S JUDGMENT
“Seriously boy
This San Francisco
Blues of yours
Like shark fins
the summer before
And was it Sarie
Sauter Finnegan
Some gal before—
It’s a farce
For funny you
you know?
I dont think I’ll buy it”
Slit in the ear
By a bolo knife
Savannah Kid just nodded
At the beast that
Hides.
Secret
Poetry
Deceives
Simply
64TH CHORUS
California evening is like Mexico
The windows get golden oranges
The tattered awnings flap
Like dresses of old Perdido
Great Peruvian Princesses
In the form of Negro Whores
Go parading down the sidewalk
Wearing earrings, sweet perfume
Old Weazel Warret
tradesmen
sick of selling
out their stores stand in
the evening lineup
before identifying cops
they cannot understand
in the clouds of can
and iron moosing
marshly morse
of over head
65TH CHORUS
Daughters of Jerusalem
Prowling like angry felines
Statuesque & youthful
From the well
Embarrassed but implacable
And watched by hungry worriers
Filling out the whitewall
Car with 1000 pounds
Of “Annergy!
Thats what I got!
An-nergy!”
To burn up Popocatepetl’s
Torch of ecstasy.
The neons redly twangle
Twinkle cute & clean
Like Millbrae cherry
Nipptious tostle
Flowers tattled
Petal for the joss stick
Stuck in neon twaddles
To advertise a bar
—All over SanFranPisco
The better is the pain
66TH CHORUS
—“Switch to Calvert”
Runs an arrow eating
Bulb by bulb
Across the bulbous
Whisky bottle
And under the Calvert clock
Tastes better! Everyone
Tastes better
All the time
And fieldhands
That aint got aznos
But the same south Mexican
Evening soft shoe
walk
Slow in dusts of soft
in Ac to pan
Here in Frisco City
American
The same way walk
To buy some vegetables
67TH CHORUS
For the bedsprings on the roof
Not keep the rain on out
Or bombed out huts
In dumpland—Blue
Workjacket, shino pants,
It’s like Mexico all violet
At ruby rose & velvet
Sun on down
On down
Sun on down
Sundown
Red blood bon neon
Bon runs don blon
By Barrett
Wimpole
Trackmeet
68TH CHORUS
And like Mexico the deep
Gigantic scorpic haze
Of shady curtain night
Bein drawn on civilized
And Fellaheen will howl
Where the cows of mush
Rush to hide their sad
Tan hides in the stonecrump
Mumps bump top of hill
Out Mission Way
Holy Cows of Cross
And Lick Monastery
Velvet for our meat
Hamburgers
And doom of pained nuns
Or painted
One
Mexico is like Universe
69TH CHORUS
And Third Street a Sun
Showing just how’s done
The light the life the action
The limp of worried reachers
Crawling up the Cuba street
In almost dark
To find the soften bell
Creaming Meek on corner
One by one, Tern, Tim,
Click, gra, rattapisp,
Ting, Tang—
Blink! Off
Run! Arrow!
Cut! Winkle! Twinkle!
Fill
Piss! Pot!
The lights of coldmilk
supper hill streets
make me davenport
and cancel Ship.
70TH CHORUS
3rd St is like Moody St
Lowell Massachusetts
It has Bagdad blue
Dusk down sky
And hills with lights
And pale the hazel
Gentle blue in the
burned windows
Of wooden tenements,
And lights of bars,
music brawl,
“Hoap!” “Hap!” & “Hi”
In the street of blood
And bells billygoating
Boom by at the ache
of day
The break of personalities
Crossing just once
In the wrong door
71ST CHORUS
Nevermore to remain
Nevermore to return
—The same hot hungry
harried hotel
wild Charlies dozzling
to fold the
Food papers in the
mahogany talk
Of television reading room
Balls are walled
and withered
and long fergit.
Moody Lowell Third Street
Sick & tired bedsprings
Silhouettes of brownlace
eve night dowse—
All that—
And outsida town
The aching snake
Pronging underground
To come eat up
Us the innocent
And insincere in here
72ND CHORUS
And Budapest Counts
Driving lonely mtn. cars
On the hem of the grade
Of the lip curve hill
Where Rockly meets
Out Market & More—
The last shore—
View of the sea
Seal
Only Lowell has for sea
The imitative Merrimac
And Frisco has for
snake
The crowdy earthquake
cataract
And Hydrogen Bombs
of Hope
Lost in the blue
Pacific
Empty sea
73RD CHORUS
Bakeries gladly bright
Filled with dour girls
Buying golden pies
For sullen brooding boys
On 3rd St in the night
But by day
The Greek Armenian
Milk of honey
Bee baclava maker
Puts his sugars
On the counter
For bums with avid jaws
And hollow eyes
Eager to eat
Their last dainty.
74TH CHORUS
Marchesa Casati
Is a living doll
Pinned on my Frisco
Skid row wall
Her eyes are vast
Her skin is shiny
Blue veins
And wild red hair
Shoulders sweet & tiny
Love her
Love her
Sings the sea
Bluely
Moaning
In the Augustus John
de John
back ground.
75TH CHORUS
Her eyes are living dangers
‘ll Leap you
From a page
Wearing the same insanity
The sweet unconcernedly
Italian humanity
Glaring from black eyebrows
To ask
Of Renaissance:
“What have you done now
After 3 hundred years
But create the glary witness
Which out this window
Shows a pale green
Friscan hill
The last green hill
Of America
With a cut a band
76TH CHORUS
Of brown red road
Coint round
By architects of hiways
To show the view
To ledge travellers
Of Frisco, City, Bay
And Sea
As all you do is drive around
—By Groves of lonesome
Redwood trees
Isolated
In physical isolation
On the bare lump
Hill like people
Of this country
Who walk alone
In streets all day
Forbidden
To contact physically
Anybody
So desirable—
77TH CHORUS
They kill’d all painters
Drown’d—Made wash
The smothering crone
Of Cathay,
Flower of Malaya,
And Dharma saws,
Gat it all in,
Like wash,
Call’d it Renascence
And then wearied
From the globe—
Hill, last hill
Of Western World
Is cut around
Like half attempted
Half castrated
Protrudient breast
Of milk
From wild staring earth
78TH CHORUS
—The last scar
America was able
To create
The uttermost hill
Beyond which is just
Pacific
And no more sc-cuts
And Alamos neither
But that can be rolled
In satisfying sea
Absolved of suicide—
Except that now
They’re blasting fishermen
Apart?”
79TH CHORUS
“Beyond that fruitless sea”
—So speaks Marchesa
Mourning the Renaissance
And still the breeze
Is sweet & soft
And cool as breasts
And wild as sweet dark eyes.
Sits in her spirit
Like she wont be long
And bright about it
All the time, like short
star
An angry proud beauty
Of Italy
80TH CHORUS
San Francisco Blues
Written in a rocking chair
In the Cameo Hotel
San Francisco Skid row
Nineteen Fifty Four.
This pretty white city
On the other side of the country
Will no longer be
Available to me
I saw heaven move
Said “This is the End”
Because I was tired
of all that portend.
And any time you need
me
Call
I’ll be at the other
end
Waiting
at the final hall
RICHMOND HILL BLUES
DULUOZ
Name derived from early
morning sources
In a newspaper office
Long Ago in Lowell Mass
When birds were shitting
On the canal
And Sperm was Floating
among the Redbrick Walls
Of a Morn that had Smoke
Pouring from a Christian Hill
Chimney—
Ah Sire, Duluoz,
King of my Thoughts,
Salute!
(Kick another can of beer)
THAT’S WHAT I SAID
Not what I thot I meant
O Sin-of-a-Bitch
But what I out loud said
Not—again—what in
retrospect
And banalizing sedeora ing
of my garage
Made it
Say what you mean
A poem is a lark
A pie
SCHLITZ (A drunken vision of a can of beer)
Beaded melt hotwave waters
Of outside hydrated juices
Flowing down Made in USA
& Brooklyn New York
Genuine, holed triangular.
WIFE & 3
Little Cathy gladdy
with sun cheeks
beeted
Jamie hiding hugging
her knees
Mother Earwicker solemn,
lovely, flesh legs
white
King John Fartitures
of Hop Top Heap
Cassadee-ing in
his Kingdom
Jamie of mother’s sweetly
sweet goodheart breast
Showing oldlady teeth
of littlegirl glee
And pudgy arms locked
Tristesse in the little
hopeless Fingers,
Faisse in the shot,
the radiant sun,
The shine of San Jose
O
Grass
Peotés of time!
Steps, lost davenports,
eternities,
Hot Night Birds,
Billy Holiday!
—Make the quaker
give his cream
ANY TIME
Any time you want
A write a fucken poem
Ope this book
& Scream no more
But Cream
Cry
Fret not
> Flow
Flay
Fray the edge of Froy
Make Frogs Alliterate
Bekkek! Bekkek!
Koak! Koak!
Carra Quax!
Carra qualquus
Kerouacainius!
EVEN JOYCE
Even he, Joyce,
had love—
Even blind poets
AUDEN HAD NO ASS
Auden had no ass
Butler had no balls
Carew had no crash
Dyck had no dick
Egrets had no erse
Fart had no fuck
George had no Gyzm
His honou had no H
I J Fox had no wife
J Fox had no Joke
Kerou had no Ka
Ling Woe had no Rice
M & N had no Moola
(a lot!)
Novales had no Nodes
O vum had no Ollie
(O’Neill Mc Shanahan)
P-ew had no Push
Quasi Quean had no Queasy
feelings
R had no heart
Studentio
had
no
Stok
To
v
e
l
e
n
l
s
h had
no
T
u
p
Uvalde had no Upstarts
Vedichad no Velda
Velda had no Vim
Vish had no Rush
her
Vim
hid
his
Or pit his ass
gainst my pen
U had no V
V had no Victory
U V W had no
Pesco
X no Y or Z
THE POET
So many times since
I’ve seen the poet
of Greenwich Village
Cutting to work in the gray dawn
With a lunchpail &
bleak haircut
Eyes to the Hudson
Nostril to the street
To winter, work, beneficence,
Meals, fare of folly
So many times since
I’ve seen the poet
Who wrote rhythms & rhymes
To be mad in Minetta’s
And Minetta Lane
Go Hurrying to Work
Sex hung, sexed, psychoanalyzed?
To work in the unpoetic dawn
Mornings after I’d got drunk