Boredom
On 69th and 3rd:
The Hudson looks like smoke building under transit
a dwindling stream seeming obscene.
All he wants to do is be Frankenstein.
Sparrow don’t fly away in arm’s reach
set sail feather-wail floating finger flied away
in to the ashes of a sun. not worth hiding from
Bhikkhu blowing Bacchus blues
down dreary drunk (en) avenues
Looking kinda funny wearing no shoes
with a fool’s gold halo that slightly skews
the hallow laughter sweetly singing siren dreams from his horn.
The doorway is coughing tuberculosis
silhouettes still stilly swooning over-
serving, swerving
nymphomaniacs with charcoal eyes.
Dissimilar windows awakening in gelatinous vanity
assume no responsibility
for sins for their former sand.
lewd, skewed atoms of while
And how the register rings like a Banshee in a blender
And the pitter-patter of angry feet
follow consequential crevices
in stairs of atomic logic
And the bus is late
through windows for dinner plates
snow stares at
swinging saxophones
on 69th and 3rd
Fed-Ex a case of nostalgia
an’ how-are-ya’s
Remembering Ginsberg filling lava-lamp-lit-basement-lines with
sad guitars in blue.
Several coffee cups
bundled up
in later
lonely pajamas down treble trails over hills to nowhere special
Somewhere not drawn to scale
on ambiguous bookshelves behind a broken jail
thought
wail .
Thinking thinking
eternity
now-thing screaming nothing
bleeding nothing
some thing never sleeping
no where
never nothing
existing in body
in it self
in mind
in nothing
And a Shorter Ditty:
Wild bongos trombone wails desert
pale red moon
cacti dreaming coyotes
a shot of Bourbon
on the sand
pouring through green grain
universes
Uni
verses
Apart a new chorus of more or less
a new new new
cat stepping on the just right keys
in the suburban TV dinner cosmos
the moon is a spotlight
a call for the indescribable African Sunrise
Bee boop ba dee da boop
Thump ground po howl scrowl below screaming grinding
frenzied slowdown big four ready?
-These will probably find their way into somewhat of a city-scape epichol utterance of nonsense and sincerity that i've been working on. And you will probably not comment.
The Hudson looks like smoke building under transit
a dwindling stream seeming obscene.
All he wants to do is be Frankenstein.
Sparrow don’t fly away in arm’s reach
set sail feather-wail floating finger flied away
in to the ashes of a sun. not worth hiding from
Bhikkhu blowing Bacchus blues
down dreary drunk (en) avenues
Looking kinda funny wearing no shoes
with a fool’s gold halo that slightly skews
the hallow laughter sweetly singing siren dreams from his horn.
The doorway is coughing tuberculosis
silhouettes still stilly swooning over-
serving, swerving
nymphomaniacs with charcoal eyes.
Dissimilar windows awakening in gelatinous vanity
assume no responsibility
for sins for their former sand.
lewd, skewed atoms of while
And how the register rings like a Banshee in a blender
And the pitter-patter of angry feet
follow consequential crevices
in stairs of atomic logic
And the bus is late
through windows for dinner plates
snow stares at
swinging saxophones
on 69th and 3rd
Fed-Ex a case of nostalgia
an’ how-are-ya’s
Remembering Ginsberg filling lava-lamp-lit-basement-lines with
sad guitars in blue.
Several coffee cups
bundled up
in later
lonely pajamas down treble trails over hills to nowhere special
Somewhere not drawn to scale
on ambiguous bookshelves behind a broken jail
thought
wail .
Thinking thinking
eternity
now-thing screaming nothing
bleeding nothing
some thing never sleeping
no where
never nothing
existing in body
in it self
in mind
in nothing
And a Shorter Ditty:
Wild bongos trombone wails desert
pale red moon
cacti dreaming coyotes
a shot of Bourbon
on the sand
pouring through green grain
universes
Uni
verses
Apart a new chorus of more or less
a new new new
cat stepping on the just right keys
in the suburban TV dinner cosmos
the moon is a spotlight
a call for the indescribable African Sunrise
Bee boop ba dee da boop
Thump ground po howl scrowl below screaming grinding
frenzied slowdown big four ready?
-These will probably find their way into somewhat of a city-scape epichol utterance of nonsense and sincerity that i've been working on. And you will probably not comment.