the chamber of commerce all come in—
each member carrying hand grenades—
everything turns into blood—excpt for
the jukebox, a stranger wearing a—
calendar, & a postcard of a greek
building … which the owner of the
place has left on top of the radiator
by mistake/ the play now begins … it
is all in the past … i will not be so insulting as to write it for you
between the shrieking mattress in the kitchen & Time, a mysterious weekly—Tao—a fingertip on his chin, his knees knocking together—Tao—he shows the inside of his mouth to a column of faces “does this mean you must take a nap today?” & Phil Silvers eating a banana—he is inside of the column of faces—Tao is quiet & Phil pokes Duff the Hero—a miser from the Aegean Sea—a vast desert in his head—he has plenty of self confidence & lets yokels test bombs in his brain—“love is a ghost thing” says Duff “it goes right thru you” Tao strains—he looks almost pornographic “some tonsils!” says Phil, who now wears long suspenders & tells Duff to keep up the self confidence “self confidence is deceiving” says Mr. O’toole—a husband of questionable virtue “it gives people without balls a sense of virility” “does your wife own a cow?” says Phil, who has now turned into an inexpensive Protestant ambassador from Nebraska & who speaks with a marvelous accent “what do you mean does my wife own a cow?” “are you from Chicago then?” asks the ambassador … Tao’s face—meanwhile—becomes so big—it disappears “where’d he go?” says Duff—who’s not so much of a hero anymore but rather a jolly youth that hates degenerates & is supposed to be in school anyway … Mr. O’toole—falls out of his chair “i must find some railroad tracks—i must put my ear to the tracks—i must listen for a train”—the column of faces—all together now—a munching chorus “DONT GET KILLED NOW”—repeat—“dont get killed now” … yes & between this mattress shrieking & that mysterious weekly lay the slave counties—Doris Day gone &. Pacific fog—a Studebaker in twilight—crash—& breaking down the honkytonk doors & strange left handed moonmen—from Arkansas & Texas & vagabonds with girlie magazines from Reed College—cellars & Queens—they all shouting “watch me Tao—watch me—i’m high—watch me now!” … that lonesome feeling—paralyzing—that lonesome feeling—or aretha—my mama didnt raise no fool—i have nothing new to add to that feeling … slide on vomit—better’n working with a shovel—Reject—God Bless Holy Phantomism & damn the farewell parties—statistic books—the politicians . . the column of faces—all together now—raising the flag & staring up to a hole in it—chanting “it’s halloween! can Tao come out & play?”—getting no reaction & shouting louder—all in unison now—“IT’S HALLOWEEN … CAN TAO COME OUT & PLAY?”
give up—give up—the ship is lost: go
back to san bernardino—stop trying to
organize the crew—it’s every man for
himself—are you a man or a self? when
the coast guard gets there, stand up
proudly & point—dont be a hero—everybody’s
a hero—be different—dont be a conformist—
stand up & say “san bernardino” in a deep
monotone … everybody will get the message
your benefactor
Smoky Horny
Chug A Lug—Chug A Lug
Hear Me Hollar Hi Dee Ho
he was propped in the crutch of an oak tree—looking down—singing “there’s a man going round taking names” indeed—i nod howdy—he nods howdy back “well he took my mother’s name—lef’ me there in pain” i, who am holding a glass of sand in one hand & a calf’s head in the other—i look up & say “are you hungry?” & he say “there’s a man going round taking names” & i say “good nuff” & keep walking—his voice rings thru the valley—it sounds like a telephone—it is very disturbing—“you need anything up there?”—i’m going to town” he shakes his head “well he took my sister’s name & i aint never been the same” “right-o” i say—tie my shoelace & keep walking—then i turn & say “if you need any help getting down, just you come to town & tell me” he doesnt even hear—“well he took my uncle’s name & you know he wasnt to blame” “groovy” i say & continue my way to town “ it couldnt’ve been more’n a few hours later when i happened to be passing by again—in the spot where the tree was, a lightbulb factory now stood—“did there used to be a guy here in a tree?” i yelled up to one of the windows—“are you looking for work?” was the reply . . it was then when i decided that marxism did not have all the answers
why are you so frightened of
time on the toilet dont you? why
dont you admit it? why are you so
embarrassed to be frightened?
your uncle
Matilda
Paradise, Skid Row & Maria Briefly
fatty Aphrodite’s mama—i bend to you … & with sex mad eternity at my vegetable shadow—i, wiping my hands on the horse’s neck—the horse burping & you of the Indiana older brother—he who whips you with his belt & you who does not look for reason to your torture & i want your horizontal tongue—within Reflex—the perfect doom & these cruel nitemares where brickmasons introduce me to hideous connections & Marx Brothers grunting NO QUIERO TU SABIDURIA & your thighs be half awake & me so Sick so Sick of these lovers in Biblical roles—“so youre out to save the world are you? you impostor—you freak! youre a contradiction! youre afraid to admit youre a contradiction! youre misleading! you have big feet & you will step on yourself all the people you mislead will pick you up! you have no answers! you have just found a way to pass your time! without this thing, you would shrivel up & be nothing—you are afraid of being nothing—you are caught up in it—it’s got you!” i am so Sick of Biblical people