Collected Poems 1947-1997 - Ginsberg Allen - Страница 111
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barking and gulping—the black sucker parasite
ate belly & crawled up throat,
pink mucous flesh bubble
half-retched from dog chest
I smoke too much I’ll die lung cancer
eyes closed sensory illusion dotted
no-think moviescreens,
worms’ll grow eyeballs silently,
mosquitoes will row in valley bay night—
Sausalito, certainly had your big prick there—
Yellow light laid over planet
telegraph wires over consciousness
every direction Knowing I am here,
engine slowly throbbing uphill—
Night darkling over Mojave desert,
Yellow planet-light disappearing, mounds westward,
Soldiers asleep, rocking away from the War.
Autolite headed toward disappearing sun.
Pew! Pew! Pew! cry the children
pulling each other’s arms,
What an earth to live on!
Lights of the City, south,
brightening a piece of the night—
and the diamond-green gleam an airfield light—
Hey! ya bit me, ya bit me,
hello Missus Fight!
Green Green Green blinks the Diner sign
where truckmen roam
in darkness toward Barstow.
Stars as when I was a child.
Mojave’s firmament same Passaic’s—
This space capsule softer than trees
in chemical landscape
with electronic clicks.
And is Heaven any different from where we are?
How could it be better or worse?
Tho delicate chemical brain changes
Aethereal sensations
Muladhara sphincter up thru mind aura
Sahasrarapadma promise
another Universe—
Whitman, Carpenter, Gavin Arthur, saying
We are leaves of the Tree,
saying
We are drops of water running to the ocean
thru the fish’s mouth—
And we shall stand in Flesh in Paradise
with the Virgin of the 19th Century—?
Borax, Borax, Borax,
Crystal lights upon a hill, faery castles
Might be in heaven, only Mojave—
Borax, Borax, Borax
Borax the Dinosaur slounges thru
fronds under Pleiades—
Delicate filament of highway lights
the nerves between cities—
Borax, Borax Borax Borax
near Bel Mar desert Motel—
AUM
—my enemy machine chatterjabber mind
making Borax Borax Borax Borax
spinal column thought
o’er turkeys, oil, wind, headlights—
A child peeps thru glass moving night
where red tail lights keep time
to the Santa Fe train
rolling over Crane’s gloom.
Ho! a Crescent moon
Mr. Cummings & Mr. Vinal both dead—
“Why you like beer as much as I do,”
sd the old gal
to a tableful of cans—
“Lady, it’s my life.”—
Where the soldiers sat talkabout gotten their head busted off
and there’s a cherry in the gin & tonic
an angel upside down playing with himself
kneeling abed looks
between legs into mirror
to see the two spots where he sat so long studied Bible
reddened each buttock—
Cigarettes and alcohol,
the Hundred&81st Airborne
Hmm—They’d be better off puffin’
a peaceful O pipe
or sipping kif Sebsi in a cafe
green fig trees
blue Gibraltar Strait…
“The tricks are what makes business!
you got a college education, it ain’t what you got
it’s what you do with yr. college education Son.”
And they’re all actors.
Waiting at Barstow the engine humming
—“I wanna be an entertainer,
I wanna be a comedy writer,” he said—
his hands once colored with Vietnamese blood.
The engine humming—
All others silent, lost in thought.
And the soldier talked all about his troubles with his red hair.
And how he took his girl home after 3 drinks
when she squinted her eyes at him and said
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