IN FLIGHT WITH TWA

No, Mr. Ferlinghetti,
    To Fuck is not
        to love again
And I love Sandy
High in the sky.
    Who before have had such
        visions
Lone horizons pinkly
        sad drawing us
Soaring
            Bird-like.
Ah, Icarus, did your
    Bliss at all
                resemble mine?

 

GURS WHO
        for the girl who stole the strawberries

O Grand Canyon
    Ocean
            Ice
Tormentors,
            Beauties
Pale blues
        scudding angry seas.
O Sun
    Burning Burning
Hear me.
A vision, oh,
            A vision
Burning
    Collision course with
Ecstasy
And I am in the clouds
            And pain shuttles
            Between my ears
Sinking, deeper
    Burning
                oh

 

REMBER ME (6/25/68)

Out gone away
                        toy tinkles
                                        cheaply recalled

                    Poets
                            high velocity word less
                                                            sinking
                                                                       in
                                                                          pain
                                                                          fall

lone soul
                without the ease of eastern light
                          and no one really knows
                                      anything at llllll

      and where does that leave me ?

                                      artificial hero
                                                unreal salvation
                                                            Platonic bomb

Come again
                  come again
                                    come again
                                                      come again

                           Remember me?

 

WHAT HAVE I SEEN ?
for Charles Potts

Mr. Charlie, go to sleep
                or Canada
                or the mountains
      go to drugs, women
           islands,
                      dodger   games
           even though
               we   both   know   what
                  it
                is
your
       prophetic shricks
                are   trying
                                 to
                     shout down.
Jesus got hung-up, too.
      Keep it short
                     Keep it sweet
           Keep it to your
                                    self
              Or next of kin.

I am living in
           chain letters
      unwilling to
           hurl my
                 flesh
          into the
             searing
          potential of
                your 90% pure,
             holy, love   ache.
You can't win 'em all,
      Charlie,
  Let it go
                to
                    Hell,
        dark infamies,
                juggernauts of
            this and that,
    Let murder lap its
            cold juices —
    Death comes to us
                all
Regardless of race
                   creed
                or color
But only you can make a
      Rainbow.

 

"AT LAST I AM ALONE . . . "

Heaps and sea swells
                                 alternately rise and fall within my chest
but only snickers attend my search for the lost white whale.

Do something useful;
                                leave off these obsessed map flurries;
burn Plato; clench a fist ! Don't you want to make something

Out of life ?
                 No monkey donkey panther honkey, thank ya
m'am, kinda busy now flying dutchmen and avoiding the draft

Created by the foils
                            of other's wings and slings and things —
outrageous fortune hunters' trappings. See you later.