You gotta read the Sutras,
The Sutras of the Ancients, India
Long ago, when campfires at night
Across the Rahuan River
Showed lines of assembled bo’s
With bare feet bare the naked
Right shoulders of passing houris,
Sravasti late at night, tinkle
Goes the Indian Dancinggerl –
There’s One Thousand
Two hundred and fifty
Men
Sitting around a grove
of trees
Outsida town
right now
With Buddha
Is their leader
Discoursing in the middle,
Sitting lotus posture,
Hands to the sky,
Explaining the Dharma
In a Sutra so high
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Dharma law
Say
All things is made
of the same thing
which is a nothing
All nothings are the same
as somethings
the somethings
are no-nothings,
equally blank
Blank
bright
is the whole scene
when you let your eyes
wander beyond the mules
and the fields and carpets
and bottles on the floor
and clean mahogany radios,
dont be afraid
the raid hasnt started
panic you not
day the better
arriveth soon
And the gist of it Nothingness
SUCH-NESS
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Suchness
Is Tathata, the name,
Used,
to mean, Essence,
all things is made
of the same thing
essence
The thing is pure nature,
not Mother Nature
The thing is to express
the very substance of your thoughts
as you read this
is the same as the emptiness
of space
right now
and the same as the silence you hear
inside the emptiness
that’s there
everywhere,
so nothing in the way
but ignorant sofas
and phantoms & chairs,
nothing there but the picture
in the movie in your mind
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My disciples of the modern world.
Christ was born in a barn because
the inn was full. Egyptian,
Babylonian, African. They
met in the desert and saw
the star and God was
s’posed to have spoken to em
– picked up.
Like wild.
A hayloft in a barn.
All will appeal
to Slaves
Every saint of Christ
was the guilt of slaves
Inherit the Earth, O
Camel thru the eye
of a needle
Rich man full of heaven
follow me
Poor
Never die.
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Mary
Who’s my mother?
Goes back to Isis
Who is my mother?
Christ said – You are
all my mothers.
All my brothers
and sisters.
Peace.
The faith
and belief
in him
That
through their faith
eyes of God –
But the Catholic Church
S hw vass iss?
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Who is my father?
Who is my mother?
Who is my brother?
Who is my sister?
I say you’re all my father
all my mother
all my sister
all my brother
“Rather a good thing”
– that we’re all
brothers & sisters
Men Of Good Will
is Something we Need
in the World Today
Men of Philosophy
that Cannot be of Good
Will
Are the Communists
& Fanatical Jews
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Fanatical spews
Fanatical mews
It is magic
That men have anything
to do with birth
Say the Primitives.
“I never objected to the word
God”
The crazy sex
the Protestant has
They’re Brigham Me Young
God hid some tablets
full of Gold Heroin
In the Mormon Bible
And flew pigeons & cocks
Welcome Home
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The higher criticism
If you know what I mean
“Literary Criticism?”
“No –Bible.”
Every chapter & phase
Historical, anthropological,
Archaeological, Logical,
Magical,
There’s not after they
get thru with the Bible
Much of it Left
Mo the Span
Pure Boy
I must naw
remember
Nao
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The Book of Pluviums
“You want some coffee
before I get it too good?”
A O Kay,
Straighten me out.
Zarooomooo
(The Bus outdoors)
and he-hey the
Nay Neigh
of the Heaven
Mule
Nice clean Cup
Mert o Vik lu
Nut – upanu.
Yes
Sir.
Merp.
HOOT GIBSON
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“Darling!”
Red hot.
That kind of camping
I dont object to
unless it’s kept
within reason.
“The coffee is delicious.”
This is for Vidal
Didnt know I was
a Come-Onner, did you?
(Come-on-er)
I am one of the world’s
Great Bullshitters,
Girls
Very High Cantos
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But cantos oughta sing
HE WAS AN
OLD CROOK
The hand of death
Wrote itself
Jumping over the moon
With a Cow and Jesus
Now Onions, chickens,
Noodle end of it
Mo
Not too many hands
of death
In slave Arabia
the post hot
Top town
of
Thieves
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A GUYS ASKING A QUESTION
It’s better not to wake them up
So they wont know
They’re dreaming?
It’s better to wake them up
because
they’re dreaming.
It’s not better to wake them up
because they dont know
that they’re dreaming?
Who, no, who said I
was dreaming?
You said, who said, I say
You’re dreaming?
Lise is a fl dreamy
phantasm
“Go on, you’re having one big dream,
That would be my answer.” (Bill)
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“Dreery my dear”
The time we c
rossed Madrid
in a car
and Kelly pointed out
the dreary Spanish
Ar chitecture
As they OO’ed
And aa’ed
In a hired
Li mousine
Of the Zara
Nazarenes
smiling to be bold
in foretold of old
And they stopped
At a balcony
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A Porte Corrière
Of Spanish
Portugy
Blazed
By guitars
Like Spanish Cows
Ortega y gassa
Monte de eleor
De manta
Moda
Fawt
Ta caror
Ta fucka
Erv old
Men
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Story About What?
(Story About Babyhood)
While walking down
the boulevard
Contemplating suicide
I sat down at a table
And much to my surprise
My friend was goofing
at a table
And he was goofing out loud
And this is the result
Of what he Said.
Take your pick
Winds up in such
A predicament
You won’t know
What to do with yourself
Live or die
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GOOFING AT THE TABLE
“You just dont know.”
“What dont I know?”
“How good this ham n eggs
is
“If you had any idea
whatsoever
How good this is
Then you would stop
writing poetry
And dig in.”
“It’s been so long
since I been hungry
it’s like a miracle.”
Ah boy but them bacon
And them egg –
Where the hell
is the scissor?
SINGING:– “You’ll never know
just how much I love you.”
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Mr Beggar & Mrs Davy –
Looney and CRUNEY,
I made a pome out of it,
Havent smoked Luney
& Cruney
In a Long Time.
Dem eggs & dem dem
Dere bacons, baby,
If you only lay that
down on a trumpet,
‘Lay that down
solid brother
‘Bout all dem
bacon & eggs
Ya gotta be able
to lay it down
solid –
All that luney
& fruney
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Fracons, aeons, & beggs,
Lay, it, all that
be bobby
be buddy
I didnt took
I could think
So
bepo
beboppy
Luney & Juney
–if–
that’s the way
they get
kinda hysterical
Looney & Boony
Juner and Mooner
Moon, Spoon, and June
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Dont they call them
cat men
That lay it down
with the trumpet
The orgasm
Of the moon
And the June
I call em
them cat things
“That’s really cute,
that un”
William
Carlos
Williams
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SINGING:–
By the light
Of the silvery moon
I like to spoon
To my honey
I’ll
Croon
Love’s Dream
By the light
Of the silvery moon
We’ll O that’s the
part I dont remember
ho ney moon –
Croon –
Love –
June –
O I dont know
You can get it out of a book
If the right words are
important
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Do you really need
the right word
Do you really need
Of course it’s all asinine
Forms of asininity
Once & for all
Mr. William Carlos
Williams
Anyway,
An asinine form
which will end
all asininity
from now on
That’s a poem
The poem
Will end
Asininity
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Take your pick,
If you wanta commit suicide.
So that we’ll know
What it woulda been
like without life.
Woulda been like
Peaceful and Golden.
A Crashing Movie
The world
Full of beet skins
And fist stars
And editorial
Poon yaks.
A crashing movie
The World
Full of craze
Beware
The Share
is Merde
Air
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These things in a big structure of Confession –
And “Later” – “Later the Road” –
Or “On the Road” simply. New
Haven Railroads of the Night
Couldnt be Tighter, than Slaw,
The Riverbottom Rog Man, Screaming
In the Passaic Rocks ready to throat
And drown the sodden once-dry dog
In a multifarious Pool of Pearls
Containing Amethystine Paradises
And Worlds a Hundred Million in Number
Fit for the following Kings:
Ashapur, Parteriat, Klane,
Thor, Mordelowr, Power,
Thwatmalee, Rizottle the Bottle
The Funny King of the Aisles –
Ah the insane –
Make it a great story & confession
Of all the crazy people you’ve known
Since early Nineteen Fifty One,
In the Twat and the Twaddle
Of the Lovegirl Marriage.
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“I wanted to marry a lovegirl,
A girl-only-interested-in-love girl,”
that would be the first sentence
of this masterpiece
Of golden litteratur –
Brap. All the crazy people
I’ve known since I was 4 years old
– 6 years old I saw the sun red
on windows of snowy centralville,
and wondered “Who am I?”
with truthful little eyes
turned to the skies of paradise –
no answer came.
I was the first crazy person
I’d known.
Had bundles and scarves a hundred miles
long
Wrapt in my heart of the library,
I had bottles and barts, & Xmas Trees,
and every thing known to man,
including 6 year old ache pains
in the Poxy back.
Was afraid of myself simply,
And afraid a everyone else.
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Remembering my birth in infancy, the coughs,
The swallows, the tear-trees growing
From your eyeballs of shame; the grey
Immense morning I was conceived i the womb,
And the red gory afternoon delivered
therefrom.
; Wow. I could sing you hounds
make you bell howl packs,
Zounds, I’d-a lived & lived laughing
as a child
If somebody coulda told me
it was unreal:
I was scared. The dark
was full of phantoms
Come from the other side of death
to claim the hearts
Of Sacrificial little children
laying up in the winter night
In cribs by howling windows
of the cold & forlorn
Earth of Massachussetts February,
Massachussetts March,
Wild howl Lupine Cold the Moony
and Loony nights.
90th Chorus
I thought I was a phantom,
me, myself,
Suffering. One night I saw
my older brother Gerard
Standing over my crib with wild
hair, as if he had just
pee-visited the pail
in the hall of snores
and headed back for his room
was investigatin the Grail,
Nin & Ma’s bedroom,
Who slept in the same bed
and in the crib alongside.
Oily is the moment so
that phantom was my brother
only in the sense that cotton
is soft,
Only in the sense that
when you die
you muffle
in your sigh
the thorny hard
regret of rocks
of life-belief.
I knew, I hoped, to go be saved.
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If that phantom was real
And wanted to hurt me, then,
All I had to do was suffer & die,
Gritting my teeth awhile
Till it’s all over.
If the phantom was unreal
And was only a friendly shade
Standing commiserating compassionately
At my side as I slept and sighed
In the Shakespearean night,
Perhaps, may be, it was my brother.
And my brother didnt seek to hurt me.
If he did, I crashed,
I saw stars, marvels,
My miracle hullabaloo
Balloon Rainbow
Turned out to be “Bone
the Brother-Crash”–
You get socked on the jaw
By your best friend –
You keep thinking
It’s going to happen
And it never happens,
Pow!
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It was all right,
And I was the strangest creature
of them all.