raining inside my zipper
as another predawn sportscar embarks for Portland, Maine,
snow…
with Lou Brock flying another stolen helicopter
above multicolored pansies
while
The Empire State Building
has been covered in ivy and manure
then hijacked by horny mustached apathetic gorillas.
and somewhere beyond the North Sea,
German WWII swastika submarines feed knishes to
North Sea grey whales
with long crooked noses
resembling intellectual Ashkenazi Eastern European Jews.
nearby, a hummingbird with spittle on its proboscis
plays pinball in Montreal
while Leonard Cohen
adjusts another rusty razorblade at the Chelsea Hotel.
while up in Wounded Knee
a woodpile hides yellow scorpions from astrological sun squares,
and America keeps busy
stealing non filter cigarettes from Panamanians
for pretended printing press exchanges.
then noticing Jacques Cousteau dressed in waxen wings
dreaming out loud about performing adultery
this time with a river.
then hearing Salvador Dali play invisible ping-pong
with Ingmar Bergman
with a honking Harpo Marx frantically refereeing.
then getting wind of a cascading tidal wave
take apart the Houston Astrodome
bottom half of the 4th inning:
Hearing those voices again!
Hearing those voices again!
Hearing those voices again!
raining inside my zipper…
predawn sportscar departs for Portland, Oregon,
rain…
while
penguin feet bravely clomp down
nighttime phantasmagoric alleyways,
while
teacher and student share a needle’s worth
inside the tiled urinals of Athens,
while
back here in America
teacher and student look to Hollywood whorehouses
as sanctuaries
for teaching and learning medicinal meditation
for trading and shoplifting forged graduate credits…
(apparently the boys down the block
no longer obey the unwritten laws
proclaimed by the choirs of Albion).
and…Henry Miller pedaling his bicycle
while scribbling literary essays in watercolor,
dedicating his works to the memory of Anis Nin
and Jacqueline, a Parisian pimp,
exclaiming:
“the plasma of the dream is the pain of separation”.
What sort of blood flows upward
yet cannot find a gulley to fill?
Out here in Merica
pickpockets associate with candy stripers
and nursing schools will not accept esoteric applicants?
Out there in Merica
wedding dresses are now hocked for negligees
and virgins are not born
they become:
ART GALLERIES. TURTLES. PIGEONS. WOLVES. PIGMIES. OZONE LAYERS. SPACES. JERBOAS. BLUE JAYS. CHICKEN HAWKS. SWALLOW. SPIT. SPERMS. EGG WHITES. DOVES. QUESTIONS? TESTS. CRITICISMS. ANSWERS. APPLICATIONS. DEPARTMENTSTORES. TRAIN STATIONS IN THE RAIN. NEW ORLEANS. NEW BEDFORD. NEW PROVIDANCE. NEW ZION. CONEY ISLAND. BATHINGSUITS. PARACHUTE JUMPS. WAVES. MOON. CANCER. REMEMBER? OCEAN SEASONS. WINTER GARDENS. GARLIC. WEREWOLFS. MOON. CANCER. REMEMBER? WARS. BARBED WIRES. PASTS. EARTHS. TURNIPS. RABBITS. TERRIPANS. MUSIC. PIANOS. UNBROKEN CHAINS . VAULTS. BANKS. SAVES. HORDS. DONATES. EYES. ICES. WATER. OCEANS. MOON. CANCER. REMEMBER? LOVERS. BOYS. LOVERS. GIRLS. WOODEN SHIPS AND SPACESHIPS
is there another war between the odd and the even?
did you mail last week’s postcard today?
come on, we’re still waiting,
you and your friend
haven’t procreated for nearly three hours!
and have you maimed your man for today
scraped your walls clean of paint chips and ashes?
is there a window in your cell?
when you gaze from this mountaintop lookout,
do you detect people holding up signs?
do you still envision humanity
toasting Manhattans, then sipping, as one?
have you ever heard a ram’s horn blown by a beggar?
was your grandfather a bastard Jewchild?
do you still wish continuing your life
answering questions with more questions?
can't you even trust me anymore, your murderer?
so, what’d'ya you say: can I borrow your hip rosary?
borrow your wolve’s tail?
be your straight man
rag man
pure abstractexpressionist, man?
can I borrow 5 bucks…4 does…3 blades of grass…
2 jars of blueberry jelly…an open ear?
do you hear?
but first there must still be blood gathering
inside our faces!
then there must still remain creativity
inside our hearts, pounding!
I am not dead yet
you are not yet dead
we are not yet unproud
so these stream Poems must continue
(they have not yet taken away our Slavic spirit)!
then I rant this one last time
because you are always in the next room.
then I take courses at Transmutation University
in extra-curricular inspirational limericks.
(will you be there too?)
it is raining inside our zippers as we face each other.
obvious is obvious.
is there nothing precious anymore, Paco?
can’t that spider finish spinning its web, Annie?
can’t my child finish feeding from your breast, Ana?
are your rivers all dried up, Willy?
seriously, aren’t our oceans
laced with plastic and lead, Kenneth Patchen?
then is it the time yet Lou Costello?
is it the time yet, oh swans of Albion?
yes, the wonders one bumps into
running wet through stranded woods
chasing down those voices again
imagining voices
Bisbee, 1978