Collected Poems 1947-1997 - Ginsberg Allen - Страница 110

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          where curls old Jewish lock

      Belly bulged outward, breathing as a baby

                         old appendix scar

          creased where the belt went

detumescent cannon on two balls soft pillowed

Soft stirring shoots thru breast to belly—

What romance planned by the body unconscious?

                         What can I shove up my ass?

                                   Masturbation in America!

          little spasm delight, prick head

                                   getting bigger

          thumb and index finger slowly stroking

                    along cock sides, askew

                                   cupp’d in hand

          Serpent-reptile prick head

          moving in and out its meat-nest—

Turn and watch the landscape,

wave my baton

          at the passing truckdriver?

Lie back on bunk and lift the shade a bit

          enjoy sun on my flagpole?

Ah, rest, relax, no fear

          look at the sphincter-spasm itself

                                        in a mirror

                                        of sound—

Awk—if you jerk—oh it feels so good

Oh if only somebody’d come in &

                    shove som’in up that ass a mine—

      Oh those two soldiers talking about Cambodia!

      I wantem to come in and lay my head down

                         and shove it in and make me

          Come like I’m coming now,

               Come like I’m coming now,

                         Come like I’m coming now—

Ahh—white drops fall,

          millions of children—

      Santa Fe what can they do to prevent

               passengers from

               soiling their

                         small blankets with love?

Wipe up cream—what if

          The Conductor knocked?

      Go way, I’m—

      I have to compose a poem

      I have to write a financial report

      I have to meditate myself

                    I have to

                    put on my pants—

      just lie back look at the landscape

                    see a tree

                    & cross Ameriky—

                                   Compromised!

                    among green Spinach fields!

Felt good for a minute, flash came thru body

And the Sphincter-spasm spoke

      backward to the soldiers in the observation car

               I’d hated their Cambodia gossip!

               but longed for in moment truth

                    to punish my 40 years’ lies—

      Oh what a wretch I am! What

               monster naked in this metal box—

Hart Crane, under

      Laughing Gas in the Dentist’s Chair 1922 saw

                              Seventh Heaven

          said Nebraska scholar.

      On thy train O Crane I had small death too.

Green valley-fields of California telephone-wired—

      Lovers’ Desire’s State!

          Hollywood starry State!

      Rock poesy State!

                    end of the land!

      where I lay me naked in a pullman coach—

D——

      Thy secrecy arrogance befits thee not

                                   Sweet Prince—

      open yr ass to my mouth—

          a poem to thee!

                    —my voice an overdramatic madman’s

          murmuring to myself late afternoon drowze—

               going home,

                    past cement robots,

          gazing out on palmtrees with reptilian gaze,

      All’s negative O Edward Carpenter!

          As ’twere thy dainty Chinaman near Paris

                                   making crude remarks—

          I’ll jus liah hear like a nigger & moan my soul!

Sixty telephone wires strung across poles,

                         Hedges of spinach,

                              hair combed,

      quite a bit of excitement coursing along city-edge

                    plugged in to human ears

               Operators screaming at soldiers

                    returned from Vietnam,

               murder marriage or orgasmic babe born

                    bawling Daddy Come Home!

Train stop, yellow capp’d workmen

      roar at the engine with waterhoses,

I’ll take a nap dream, last night

      Homer dog swallowed a furry mollusk—

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