popped!

there,

eternal struggles with the permanent-

forbidden wall-

it'd so be nice

knowing where everyone lives on this street

renounced!

bounced!

popped!

there, and i wonder what do these skies reflect back to the underworld

here, matchsticks hold up slum jukeboxes

where pocketbooks leak floods of found consciousness

there, the tattered ask:

“where can we get tomato paste and Eb reeds,

some licorice juice,

a home for abused raccoons,

strange fruit swinging in the naked sunlight from some phenomenal transplanted tree ,

and a rare recording of Howlin' Wolf?”

and again back here,

way way out here,

this west coast

becomes east,

forbidden walls forever

popped!

bounced!

renounced!

1967