I’m an old man
now, and a lonesome man in Kansas
but not afraid
to speak my lonesomeness in a
car,
because not only my
lonesomeness
it’s
Ours, all over America,
O
tender fellows—
&
spoken lonesomeness is Prophecy
in the
moon 100 years ago or in
the
middle of Kansas now.
It’s not the vast plains mute our mouths
that
fill at midnite with ecstatic language
when our trembling bodies hold
each other
breast
to breast on a mattress—
Not the empty sky that hides
the
feeling from our faces
nor our skirts and trousers that conceal
the bodylove emanating in a
glow of beloved skin,
white
smooth abdomen down to the hair
between
our legs,
It’s not a God that bore us that forbid
our Being, like a sunny rose
all
red with naked joy
between our eyes & bellies,
yes
All we do is for this frightened thing
we call Love, want and lack—
fear that we aren’t the one whose body could be
beloved of all the brides of
Kansas City,
kissed all over by every boy of
Wichita—
O but how many in their solitude weep aloud like me—
On the bridge over Republican
River
almost
in tears to know
how
to speak the right language—
on the frosty broad road
uphill
between highway embankments
I search for the language
that
is also yours—
almost all our language has
been taxed by war.
Radio antennae high tension
wires ranging from Junction City across the plains—
highway cloverleaf sunk in a vast meadow
lanes curving past Abilene
to
Denver filled with old
heroes
of love—
to
Wichita where McClure’s mind
burst
into animal beauty
drunk,
getting laid in a car
in
a neon misted street
15
years ago—
to Independence where the old man’s still alive
who loosed the bomb that’s slaved all human
consciousness
and made the body universe a
place of fear—
Now, speeding along the empty plain,
no giant demon machine
visible
on the horizon
but tiny human trees and wooden houses at the sky’s
edge
I claim my birthright!
reborn
forever as long as Man
in
Kansas or other universe—Joy
reborn after the vast sadness
of the War Gods!
A lone man talking to myself, no house in the brown vastness to hear
imagining that throng of Selves
that
make this nation one body of Prophecy
languaged
by Declaration as Pursuit of
Happiness!
I call all Powers of imagination
to my side in this auto to make Prophecy,
all
Lords
of human kingdoms to come
Shambu Bharti Baba naked covered with ash
Khaki Baba fat-bellied mad with
the dogs
Dehorahava Baba who moans Oh how wounded, How wounded
Sitaram Onkar Das Thakur who commands
give
up your desire
Satyananda who raises two thumbs in tranquility
Kali Pada Guha Roy whose yoga drops before the
void
Shivananda
who touches the breast and says OM
Srimata Krishnaji of Brindaban who says take for your guru
William Blake the invisible father of English visions
Sri Ramakrishna master of ecstasy eyes
half closed who only cries for
his mother
Chitanya arms upraised singing & dancing his own praise
merciful Chango judging our bodies
Durga-Ma covered with blood
destroyer
of battlefield illusions
million faced Tathagata gone
past suffering
Preserver Harekrishna returning in the age of
pain
Sacred Heart my Christ acceptable
Allah the compassionate one
Jaweh
Righteous One
all
Knowledge-Princes of Earth-man, all
ancient Seraphim of heavenly Desire, Devas, yogis
&
holymen I chant to—
Come
to my lone presence
into
this Vortex named Kansas,
I lift my voice aloud,
make Mantra of American language now,
I here
declare the end of the War!
Ancient
days’ Illusion!—
and pronounce words beginning
my own millennium.
Let the States tremble,
let the nation weep,
let Congress legislate its own
delight,
let the
President execute his own desire—
this Act done by my own voice,
nameless
Mystery—
published to my own senses,
blissfully received by my own
form
approved with pleasure by my sensations
manifestation of my very
thought
accomplished in my own
imagination
all
realms within my consciousness fulfilled
60 miles from Wichita
near
El Dorado,
The
Golden One,
in chill earthly mist
houseless brown farmland plains rolling heavenward
in
every direction
one midwinter afternoon Sunday called the day of the Lord—
Pure Spring Water gathered in one tower
where
Florence is
set
on a hill,
stop
for tea & gas
The first moment I saw you in the Post Office You saw me And I didn’t know.
The first moment I saw you I knew I could love you If you could love me
You had sort of a flavor The way you looked And you looked at me And I didn’t know if you saw me And there wasn’t any question to ask
I was standing with some papers I started shuffling the papers But I didn’t know what order to put them in
But I figured I wanted to do it in such a way That it looked like I had some purpose
But I really just wanted to look at your eyes all the time
And you said Look at me with your eyes Look at me with your eyes
In that first moment Your face burned into my dream And right away I had this feeling Maybe you’re lost Until now
Maybe I’m lost Until now
And I thought Maybe I’m just making this up
But your eyes Looked like they were saying Look at me more
I would shuffle the papers Look at you My breathing changed
Then I felt something dissolve I felt there might be a danger That anything could happen in the next moment Maybe you would turn away from me
Or you could say Let’s go together Forever
Listening Faces
When we sat across from each other In the place where we met You talked about your days by the waterface listensYou talked about yourself as a childface listensWhen we were lying next to each other You told me your fear of the night Of every nightface listensYou imagined moving to your ideal countryface listensYou told me secrets about people in your life Strangersface listensYou showed me their picturesfaceYou played me your favorite music I couldn’t hear the music in it
Tangled Up
When we’re tangled up in love Is it me you’re whispering to Or some other
When we’re tangled up in sleep It is my leg you feel your legs against Or is it Paul Newman’s leg
When I move my eyes like this Is it causing you to think of Marlon Brando
When we’re tangled up in meeting other people Is it me you’re introducing Or is it Warren Beatty
When I stand with my body facing in one direction And my head in the other Do you think of Mick Jagger
If you could only give me a few clues I could invent the one you’d have me be
Babble (I)
I Uh I wanna’ show Um Some thing SSSomething That uh Some Something tender That Comes from you Uh I Can’t My words Won’t Find I wanna’ Bring something out That Some But Uh It doesn’t fit this time
Terms of Endearment
What can I call you Can I call you “Honey” Or “Sweetie Pie”
Can I call you “My Treasure” Or “Precious One”
Or can I call you “Babe” Or maybe I could call you “Darling” Can I call you “Darling”
I heard someone else call someone “Angel” once Can I try “Angel”
Can I call you “Sweetheart” Or “Sugar”
Or maybe I could call you “Love” Just “Love”
Killing
It was in one moment When we looked When we saw each other That I killed you
I saw you lying there Unmourned
You didn’t know I didn’t say I saw you dead
I saw you thinking of something else You couldn’t see The thing I’d done to you
How I Look to You
When I sit like this Do you see me brave
Do I make a mystery to you When I put on a gaze
When I stretch my arms like this Do you see me sensual
When I look releaxed Do you believe me
When I’m acting interested in your words Do you believe I’m completely interested
Which presentation of myself Would make you want to touch What would make you cross the border
Beggar
Could you give me a small part of yourself I’m only asking for the tiniest part Just enough to get me from here to there
Could you give me something Anything at all I’ll accept whatever it is
Could you just put your hand on my head Could you brush against my arm Could you just come near enough So I could feel as though you might be able to hold me
Could you touch me with your voice Blow your breath in my direction
Is it all right if I look straight into your face
Could I just walk behind you for a little while Would you let me follow you at a distance
If I had anything of value I’d gladly give it to you If there’s anything of me you want just take it
But don’t think I’m this way with everybody I almost never come to this In fact usually it’s the other way around
There’s lots of people Who would love to even have a conversation with me Who even ask me if they can walk behind me
So don’t get any ideas that I’m completely alone Because I’m not
In fact you’re the one who looks like you could use a little company
Where do you get off thinking you have anything to give me anyway
I have everything I need And what I don’t have I know where to get it Any time I want
In the middle of the night In the middle of the afternoon Five o’clock in the morning
In fact I’m wasting my time right now Just talking to youHums A capella, melody line only no words
“I’m in the mood for love”
Haunted
I’m haunted by your scent When I’m talking to someone else
I’m haunted by your eyes In the middle of brushing my teeth
I’m haunted by your hair By your skin When you’re not around
Are you visiting me
Am I dreaming you up
Savage
YOU Who makes me believe that we’re lovers YOU Who lets me pretend YOU Who reminds me of myself YOU Who controls me YOU My accomplice YOU Who tells me to lie YOU Who is acting as though we’re still in the first moment YOU Who makes me believe that we’re lovers Forever in love
Acting
Now we’re acting the partners in love Now we’re acting the estrangement Now we’re acting the reconciliation Now we’re acting that the reconciliation was a success Now we’re acting that our love has been deepened by the crises Now we’re acting that we’re both in endless harmony Now we’re acting that one of us has been injured But we’re not saying which one Now one of us is acting the pain of premonition Now we are acting the leaving Now I see you in anguish Now I watch you leaving Now I feel nothingSings:
“The thrill is gone The thrill is gone I can see it in your eyes I can hear it in your sighs Feel your touch and realize The thrill is gone”
Absence
You who are not here You who are missing in my body Holes in my body Places like holes Like bullets made Patches of agony Swimming From my feet To my hands
You who are gone Missing from the place you lived in me Instead of blood Hallow veins The groin is locked You The missing part of me You That disappeared
The Hunt
I’ve lost 15 pounds for you I’ve dyed my hair brown for you I’ve designed a special smile for you But I haven’t met you yet
I’ve bought a flashy shirt for you I’ve plucked my eyebrows out for you I’ve covered myself in Musk Oil for you I’m still hunting around for you
I’ve changed my walk for you I’ve even changed my talk for you I’ve changed my entire point of view for you I hope we’ll find each other soon
Killing
It was in a moment we were together The murder took place Without any weapon It took place Between two moments In no time
It was in a moment Between two thoughts When the murder took place Without any weapons
I wasn’t sure which one of us was killed
Watching the Sleeping Lover
I wake up Only a little ways Out of sleep
You look like my child Breathe Helpless sleeper Frightened of your dreams Separation of sleep
I breathe with you Breathe the same way See how it is to be you Sleeping
I feel like a detective Spying Your sleeping body
I’m not very far from sleep Your dream changes Your lips move
Talking to it In words I’ve never heard
Then comes a longing That I don’t understand Because it feels like it’s towards you But here you are So I don’t understand What this longing’s for
I embrace you in sleep My arm moves with your breathing Your breath makes my arm rise and fall
For one moment I think of the killing Still Frozen
I’m confused by the yearning I want to have your dreams inside me I want to strangle your dreams Inside me
As the light comes through And the night is turning into day I want to know I’ll die before you I want to know I’ll die before We aren’t lovers anymore
Salvation
Now that I’m with you I’m saved From all grief
Now that I’m with you I’m saved From being in parts
Now that I’m with you I’m saved From hoping for anything else
Now that I’m with you I’m saved From all other wanting
Babble (2)
I Can’t Uh What I want What The The thing of it is I Some Kind Some kind of Something Won’t Come Out The Way I Uh Nothing Seems To Uh Fit The Expression That I Uh Um Want Won’t Uh Come
Hoax
Even though you see it’s a hoax We continue as though it isn’t
Even though we’re duped We agree to continue
Opening
Sometimes I would want to reach My arm would start Something in my arm would start
Sometimes I would almost reach Something near my neck would move And then come back
I wanted something on my face to show Some sign Unlock my face Instead I lock my arms
The head would nod While you spoke I wasn’t sure about the head Wasn’t sure what it was saying While I listened Wasn’t sure what you saw it saying Agreeing or denying
I wanted my mouth to move To carry something across Some sign One eye was going with it
Is this the face that shows me
It was a moment I wanted to be strong Through the chest It fell You saw it falling I went on as though you didn’t I brought it back
I was wanting to be clear through the hands While the voice kept talking I held my face together My mouth on my hand Then it dropped My hands held each other
All the time you saw me
My whole body began to shudder Everything began to shudder Nothing would hold still
You tried to show me you didn’t see me shaking
You took my hand away from me And everything stopped From my fingers I returned You You You You repeats(Light fades to black)
What are the roots that clutch, what branches grow Out of this stony rubbish? Son of man, You cannot say, or guess, for you know only A heap of broken images, where the sun beats, And the dead tree gives no shelter, the cricket no relief, And the dry stone no sound of water. Only There is shadow under this red rock, (Come in under the shadow of this red rock), And I will show you something different from either Your shadow at morning striding behind you Or your shadow at evening rising to meet you; I will show you fear in a handful of dust.
(…)
After the torchlight red on sweaty faces After the frosty silence in the gardens After the agony in stony places The shouting and the crying Prison and palace and reverberation Of thunder of spring over distant mountains He who was living is now dead We who were living are now dying With a little patience
Here is no water but only rock Rock and no water and the sandy road The road winding above among the mountains Which are mountains of rock without water If there were water we should stop and drink Amongst the rock one cannot stop or think Sweat is dry and feet are in the sand If there were only water amongst the rock Dead mountain mouth of carious teeth that cannot spit Here one can neither stand nor lie nor sit There is not even silence in the mountains But dry sterile thunder without rain There is not even solitude in the mountains But red sullen faces sneer and snarl From doors of mudcracked houses If there were water And no rock If there were rock And also water And water A spring A pool among the rock If there were the sound of water only Not the cicada And dry grass singing But sound of water over a rock Where the hermit-thrush sings in the pine trees Drip drop drip drop drop drop drop But there is no water
Who is the third who walks always beside you? When I count, there are only you and I together But when I look ahead up the white road There is always another one walking beside you Gliding wrapt in a brown mantle, hooded I do not know whether a man or a woman —But who is that on the other side of you?
Turning and turning in the widening gyre The falcon cannot hear the falconer; Things fall apart; the centre cannot hold; Mere anarchy is loosed upon the world, The blood-dimmed tide is loosed, and everywhere The ceremony of innocence is drowned; The best lack all conviction, while the worst Are full of passionate intensity.
Surely some revelation is at hand; Surely the Second Coming is at hand. The Second Coming! Hardly are those words out When a vast image out of Spiritus Mundi Troubles my sight: somewhere in sands of the desert A shape with lion body and the head of a man, A gaze blank and pitiless as the sun, Is moving its slow thighs, while all about it Reel shadows of the indignant desert birds. The darkness drops again; but now I know That twenty centuries of stony sleep Were vexed to nightmare by a rocking cradle, And what rough beast, its hour come round at last, Slouches towards Bethlehem to be born?
On 28 April 1945 Benito Mussolini was taken for execution by members of the commitee of National Liberation for Nothern Italy. Claretta Petacci insisted on dying with him. They were shot, the bodies piled into a truck and taken to the Piazalle Loreto in Milan to be strung up by the heels side by side, their heads about six feet from the ground. They were mocked, vilified and riddled with bullets by the crowd that had gathered.
Birds
Birds
This is not a cornhusk doll Dipped in blood in the moonlight Like what happen in America
This is us Our eyesides snagged Dipped in mob in the daylight Like what happen in America
The breasts are still heavy The legs long and straight The upper lip remains short The teeth are too small The eyeside is green The hair long and black Still coming through Still coming through
She knows this room She can navigate it in the dark She entered the Palazzo at night by a side door To ascend to a lift in the upper floor She lies on the bed Looking up not yet seeing The signs of the zodiac painted in gold On the blue vaulted ceiling His enormous eyes as he arrives Coming nearer in the surrounding darkness His strange beliefs about the moon Its influence upon men of affairs The danger of its cold light on your face While you were sleeping She’ll eclipse it with her head Stroke him ‘til he sleeps Until he has nothing to do among men of affairs
Sometime before dawn Her bare feet cross the floor She gazes from the window At the fountain in the courtyard
“Sometimes I feel like a swallow A swallow which by some mistake Has gotten into an attic And knocks its head against the walls in terror”
This is not a rabbit skinned With a body of silver Like what happen in America
This is not a terrapin With its shell torn away Like what happen in America
The breasts are still heavy The legs long and straight The upper lip remains short The teeth are too small The eyeside is green The hair long and black Still coming through Still coming through The mood soon changed In the clear morning air A man came up towards the body And poked it with a stick It rocked swiftly And twisted around at the end of the rope
Finer than a hair from every side Finer than a hair
Birds.
Birds.
This is just a cornhusk doll Dipped in blood in the moonlight This is just a cornhusk doll
This morning in my room A little swallow was trapped It flew around desperately Until it fell exhausted on my bed I picked it up So as not to frighten it I opened the window Then I opened my hand