O Spirit.
Sir spirit, forgive me my sins,
Sir spirit give me your blessing again,
Sir Spirit forgive my phantom body’s demands,
Sir Spirit thanks for your kindness past,
Sir Spirit in Heaven, What difference was yr mortal form,
What further this great show of Space?
Speedy passions generations of
Question? agonic Texas Nightrides?
psychedelic bus hejira-jazz,
Green auto poetries, inspired roads?
Sad, Jack in Lowell saw the phantom most—
lonelier than all, except your noble Self.
Sir Spirit, an’ I drift alone:
Oh deep sigh.
February 10, 1968, 5–5:30 A.M.
Chicago to Salt Lake by Air
If Hanson Baldwin got a bullet in his brain, outrage?
If President Johnson got a bullet in his brain, fast Karma?
If Reader’s Digest got a bullet in its brain would it be smarter?
March ’68, P. 54 “Report from Vietnam, The foe is Hurting”
… “The dismal picture of 1965, when I previously visited Vietnam,
has been reversed: The Allies are winning, and the enemy is being hurt,”
wrote “The distinguished military Editor of the New York Times”
The Dinosaur moves slowly over Chicago.
Arrived on United Airlines just in time all wrong.
Anger in the back of the plane cabin, anger at Reader’s Digest
Hanson Baldwin’s “Allies”? Hanson Baldwin’s “The Enemy”?
Arguing with a schizophrenic is hopeless. A bullet in the brain.
Mr. Baldwin suggests more bullets in the brain to solve his Vietnam Problem.
Hanson Baldwin is a Military Ass-Kisser.
Dead Neal was born in Salt Lake, & Jim Fitzpatrick’s dead.
Flowers die, & flowers rise red petaled on the field.
Anger, red petal’d flower in my body
Detroit’s lake from a mile above chemical muddy,
streams of gray waste fogging the surface to the center,
more than half the lake discolored metallic—
Cancerous reproductions the house flats rows of bee boxes, DNA Molecular Patterns
microscopic reticulations topt w/Television Antennae
and the horizon edged with gray gas clouds from East to West unmoved by wind.
They fucked up the planet! Hanson Baldwin Fucked up the Planet all by himself, emitted a long Military gas cloud Dec 26 27 28 1967 in NY Times.
“Purely military considerations” he told TV—
Till Gov. LaSalle sd/ the Prexy cdnt be peaceful till election time,
as Baldwin nodded agree.
A bunch of fat & thin Schizophrenics running the planet thoughtwaves. Shit, Violence, bullets in the brain Unavailing.
We’re in it too deep to pull out.
Waiting for an orgasm, Mr. Baldwin?
Yes, waiting for an orgasm that’s all.
Give ’em all the orgasms they want.
Give ’em orgasms, give Hanson Baldwin his lost orgasms.
Give NY Times, give Reader’s Digest their old orgasms back.
It’s a gold crisis! not enuf orgasms to go round
“I take care of other people’s business” said th’ old man sleeping next seat,
Wallets & pens in his inside pocket green tie black suit boots,
“Ever since the world began Gold is the measure of Solidarity.”
Golden light over Iowa, silver cloud floor, sky roof blue deep
rayed by Western Sun set brightness from the center of the Solar System.
Neal born in Salt Lake. Died in San Miguel, met in Denver loved in Denver—
“Down in Denver/down in Denver/all I did was die.”
J. Kerouac, ’48
Airplanes, a pain in the neck. Thru Heaven, a heavy roar,
vaportrails to the sun moving behind Utah’s valley wall.
Give Heaven orgasms, give Krishna all your orgasms, give yr orgasms to the clouds. Great Salt Lake!
Fitzpatrick sobbed a lot in New York & Utah, his nervous frame racked with red eyed pain.
Farewell Sir Jim, in shiny heaven, bodiless as Neal’s bodiless …
Brainwash cried Romney, the Governor of Pollution,
Michigan’s Lakes covered w/green slime
— “The people now see thru the Administration’s continuous brainwashing.”
Chi Trib Mar 16 ’68 AP dispatch
Mind is fragments … whatever you can remember from last year’s Time Magazine, this years sunset or gray cloudmass over Nebraska,
Leroi Jones’ deep scar brown skin at left temple hairline …
… Don McNeil emerging from Grand Central w/6 stitches in Forehead pushed thru plateglass by police, his presscard bloodied.
Deeper into gray clouds, there must be invisible farms, invisible farmers walking up and down rolling cloud-hills.
“A hole in its head” … another World, America, Vietnam.
The Martians have holes in their head, like Moore’s statuary.
& if Dolphin-like Saturnian tongues are invisible & their ecstatic language irrelevant to the Gold Supply
We’ll murder ’em like 100,000,000 Bison—
Do the Buffalo Dance in the Jetplane over Nebraska! Bring back the Gay ’90s.
Gobble gobble sd/ Sanders
& Turkeys’ hormone-white-meat drumsticks poison the glands of suburban kiddies Thanksgiving.
On their bicycles w/ poison glands & DDT livers, hallucinating Tiny Vietnams on TV.
Clouds rifts, Gold orgasms in the West,
Nebraska’s Steppes herding broken cloud-flocks—
Sun at plane’s nose, izzat the Missouri breaking the plains apart? Council Bluffs & Great Platte gone?
Oh Rockies already? Snow in granite cracks & gray crags.
Hanson Baldwin covered w/ Snowflakes.
Red oxide in air & earth, sunset flowers in clouds, Anger in the Heart,
“Croakers & doubters” … Napalm & Mace: Dogs!
Earth ripples, river snakes, iron horse tracks, car paths thin
—Wasatch peak snows, north crags’ springtime white wall over desert-lake brightness—
Salt Lake streets at dusk flowing w/ electric gold. Beautiful Million winking lights!
Neal was born in Paradise!
March 30, 1968
Kiss Ass
Kissass is the Part of Peace
America will have to Kissass Mother Earth
Whites have to Kissass Blacks, for Peace & Pleasure,
Only Pathway to Peace, Kissass
Houston, April 24, 1968
Manhattan Thirties Flash
Long stone streets inanimate, repetitive machine Crash cookie-cutting
dynamo rows of soulless replica Similitudes brooding tank-like in Army Depots
Exactly the same exactly the same exactly the same with no purpose but grimness
& overwhelming force of robot obsession, our slaves are not alive
& we become their sameness as they surround us—the long stone streets inanimate,
crowds of executive secretaries alighting from subway 8:30 A.M.
bloodflow in cells thru elevator arteries & stairway glands to typewriter consciousness,
Con Ed skyscraper clock-head gleaming gold-lit at sun dusk.
1968
Please Master
Please master can I touch your cheek
please master can I kneel at your feet
please master can I loosen your blue pants
please master can I gaze at your golden haired belly
please master can I gently take down your shorts
please master can I have your thighs bare to my eyes
please master can I take off my clothes below your chair
please master can I kiss your ankles and soul
please master can I touch lips to you
r hard muscle hairless thigh
please master can I lay my ear pressed to your stomach
please master can I wrap my arms around your white ass
please master can I lick your groin curled with blond soft fur
please master can I touch my tongue to your rosy asshole
please master may I pass my face to your balls,
please master, please look into my eyes,
please master order me down on the floor,
please master tell me to lick your thick shaft
please master put your rough hands on my bald hairy skull
please master press my mouth to your prick-heart
please master press my face into your belly, pull me slowly strong thumbed
till your dumb hardness fills my throat to the base
till I swallow & taste your delicate flesh-hot prick barrel veined Please
Master push my shoulders away and stare in my eye, & make me bend over the table
please master grab my thighs and lift my ass to your waist
please master your hand’s rough stroke on my neck your palm down my backside
please master push me up, my feet on chairs, till my hole feels the breath of your spit and your thumb stroke
please master make me say Please Master Fuck me now Please
Master grease my balls and hairmouth with sweet vaselines
please master stroke your shaft with white creams
please master touch your cock head to my wrinkled self-hole
please master push it in gently, your elbows enwrapped round my breast
your arms passing down to my belly, my penis you touch w/ your fingers
please master shove it in me a little, a little, a little,
please master sink your droor thing down my behind
& please master make me wiggle my rear to eat up the prick trunk
till my asshalfs cuddle your thighs, my back bent over,
till I’m alone sticking out, your sword stuck throbbing in me
please master pull out and slowly roll into the bottom
please master lunge it again, and withdraw to the tip
please please master fuck me again with your self, please fuck me Please
Master drive down till it hurts me the softness the
Softness please master make love to my ass, give body to center, & fuck me for good like a girl,
tenderly clasp me please master I take me to thee,
& drive in my belly your selfsame sweet heat-rood
you fingered in solitude Denver or Brooklyn or fucked in a maiden in Paris carlots
please master drive me thy vehicle, body of love dops, sweat fuck
body of tenderness, Give me your dog fuck faster
please master make me go moan on the table
Go moan O please master do fuck me like that
in your rhythm thrill-plunge & pull-back-bounce & push down
till I loosen my asshole a dog on the table yelping with terror delight to be loved
Please master call me a dog, an ass beast, a wet asshole,
& fuck me more violent, my eyes hid with your palms round my skull
& plunge down in a brutal hard lash thru soft drip-fish
& throb thru five seconds to spurt out your semen heat
over & over, bamming it in while I cry out your name I do love you
please Master.
May 1968
A Prophecy
O Future bards
chant from skull to heart to ass
as long as language lasts
Vocalize all chords
zap all consciousness
I sing out of mind jail
in New York State
without electricity
rain on the mountain
thought fills cities
I’ll leave my body
in a thin motel
my self escapes
through unborn ears
Not my language
but a voice
chanting in patterns
survives on earth
not history’s bones
but vocal tones
Dear breaths and eyes
shine in the skies
where rockets rise
to take me home
May 1968
Bixby Canyon
Path crowded with thistle fern blue daisy,
glassy grass, pale morninglory
scattered on a granite hill
bells clanging under gray sea cliffs,
dry brackensprout seaweed-wreathed
where bee dies in sand hollows
ant-swarmed above
white froth-wave glassed bay surge
Ishvara-ripple on cave wall
sea birds
skating wind swell,
Amor Krishna Om Phat Svaha air rumble at
ocean-lip
Yesterday
Sand castles Neal, white plasm balls round
jellies—
Skeleton snaketubes & back
nostrils’ seaweed-tail dry-wrinkled
brown seabulb & rednailed
cactus blossom-petal tongues—
Brownpickle saltwater tomato ball
rubber tail Spaghettied
with leafmeat,
Mucus-softness crown’d Laurel thong-hat
Father Whale gunk transparent
yellowleaf egg-sac sandy
lotos-petal cast back to cold
watersurge.
Bouquet of old seaweed
on a striped blanket, kelp tentacle spread
round the prayer place
Hermes silver
firelight spread over wave sunglare—
The Cosmic Miasma Anxiety meditating nakedman
—Soft Bonepipe!
Musical Sea-knee gristlebone rubber
burp footswat beard ball bounce
of homosexual Shlurp ocean hish
Sabahadabadie Sound-limit
to Evil—
Set limit, set limit, set limit to
oceansong?
Limit birdcries, limit the Limitless
in language? O Say
Can You See The Internationale
Mental Traveller Marseillaise
in waves of eye alteration Politics?
’Tis sweet Liberty I hymn in freeman’s sunlight
not limited to observe No Nakedness signs
in silent bud-crowded pathways, artforms
of flowers limitless Ignorance—
Wet seaweed blossoms froth left, sun breathing
giant mist under the bridge,
gray cliffs cloud-skin haloed
Yellow sunlight of Old
shining on mossledge, tide foam
lapped in harmless gold light—
O Eyeball Brightness shimmering! Father Circle
Rainbow horn, Silence!
So sings the laborer under the rock bridge,
so pipes pray to the Avalanche.
Big Sur, June 16, 1968 (grass)
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 in natural eyeball—
Sacramento valley rivercourse’s Chinese
dragonflames licking green flats north-hazed
State Capitol metallic rubble, dry checkered fields
to Sierras—past Reno, Pyramid Lake’s
blue Altar, pure water in Nevada sands’
brown wasteland scratched by tires
Jerry Rubin arrested! Beaten, jailed,
coccyx broken—
Leary out of action—“a public menace …
persons of tender years
… immature
judgment… psychiatric examination …”
i.e. Shut up or Else Loonybin or Slam
LeRoi on bum gun rap, $7,000
lawyer fees, years’ negotiations—
SPOCK GUILTY headlined temporary, Joan Baez’
paramour husband Dave Harris to Gaol
Dylan silent on politics, & safe—
having a baby, a man—
Cleaver shot at, jail’d, maddened, parole revoked,
Vietnam War flesh-heap grows higher,
blood splashing down the mountains of bodies
on to Cholon’s sidewalks—
Blond boys in airplane seats fed technicolor
Murderers advance w/ Death-chords
thru photo basement,
Earplugs in, steak on plastic
served—Eyes up to the Image—
What do I have to lose if America falls?
my body? my neck? my personality?
June 19, 1968
Smoke Rolling Down Street
Red Scabies on the Skin
Police Cars turn Garbage Corner—
Was that a Shot! Backfire or Cherry Bomb?
Ah, it’s all right, take the mouth off,
it’s all over.
Man Came a long way,
Canoes thru Fire Engines,
Big Cities’ power station Fumes
Executives with Country Houses—
Waters drip thru Ceilings in the Slum—
It’s all right, take the mouth off
it’s all over—
New York, June 23, 1968
Pertussin
Always Ether Comes
to dissuade the
goat-like
sensible—
or N2O recurring to
elicit ironic
suicidal pen marks—
Parallels: in Montmartre Rousseau
daubing or Rimbaud arriving,
the raw Aether
shines with Brahmanic cool moonshine
aftertaste, midnight Nostalgia.
June 28, 1968
Swirls of black dust on Avenue D
white haze over Manhattan’s towers
midsummer green Cattails’ fatness
surrounding Hoboken Marsh
garbage Dumps,
Wind over Pulaski Skyway’s
lacy networks
Trucks crash Bayonne’s roadways,
iron engines roar
Stink rises over Hydro Pruf Factory