hearing those voices again

Hearing Those Voices Again

raining inside my zipper…

predawn sportscar embarks for Portland, Maine,

snow…

Lou Brock flying another stolen helicopter above multicolored pansies

while

The Empire State Building

covered in ivy and manure

is hijacked by horny mustached apathetic gorillas

and somewhere beyond the North Sea

German WWII swastika submarines feed North Sea grey whales

with long crooked noses

resembling intellectual Ashkenazi Eastern European Jews

a hummingbird with spittle on its proboscis plays pinball in Montreal

while

Leonard Cohen

adjusts another rusty razorblade at the Chelsea Hotel

up in Wounded Knee

a woodpile hides yellow scorpions from astrological sun squares,

and America stays busy stealing non filter cigarettes from Panamanians for

pretended printing press exchanges

hearing Jacques Cousteau dressed in waxen wings

dream out loud about performing adultery

this time with a river


hearing Salvador Dali play invisible ping-pong with Ingmar Bergman

and a honking Harpo Marx frantically freely refereeing


hearing 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 professedly share a needle’s worth inside the tiled urinals of Athens,

while back here in America

teacher and student look to Hollywood as a sanctuary

teaching and learning medicinal meditation

trading for 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

writing literary essays in watercolor,

dedicating his works to the memory of Anis Nin and Jacqueline, a Parisian whore,

exclaiming:

“the plasma of the dream is the pain of separation”

What sort of blood flows upward and still cannot find a gulley to fill?

Out here pickpockets associate with candy stripers,

and what, nursing schools will not accept esoteric applicants?

wedding dresses 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

there is a war between the odd and the even

did you mail that postcard today?

we are still waiting,

your friend

hasn’t procreated for nearly three hours


why's he waiting?


have you maimed your man for today?

scraped your walls clean of the paint chips and ashes?

is there a window in your cell?

as you gaze from this mountaintop lookout

do you detect people holding up signs?

do you still envision humanity

together grasping Manhattans, sipping, as one?

have you ever heard a ram’s horn blown by a beggar?

was your grandfather a motherless Jewchild?

do you still wish to continue your life answering questions with more questions?

can't you even trust me anymore, your designated murderer?

so, what’d'ya you say: can I borrow your hip rosary?

borrow your 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?

there must still be blood gathering inside our faces, warming!

there must still remain creativity inside our hearts, pounding!

I am not yet dead

you are not yet dead

we are not yet unproud

the Poems must continue

they have not yet taken away our Slavic spirit!

so I am ranting for this last time because you are always in the next room.

so I am taking a course 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 a spider finish spinning its web, Annie?

can’t my child finish feeding from your breast, Maria?

are your rivers all dried up, Willy?

aren't your oceans now laced with fiberglass and lead, Kenneth Patchen?

is it the time yet Lou Costello?

is it the time yet, swans of Albion?

the wonders one bumps into running wet through stranded woods

chasing down those voices again

hearing those voices again

yep, those voices,

again?

Bisbee, 1978