Collected Poems

1976–1982

335 1976–1982 Railway Box (Deo Te Salve) May 6, 1976 From what lost age are you? What leftover are you, or extension into future? We always travel to next stop. . . . on our right the industrialization of America on our left, the urban residential. What villages of sorrow do we suppress, Elizabeth? How beautiful your name, it rings to me: Saint Elizabeth! Sweaters, swimsuits National State Bank. It’s not ironic. Maybe you are beautiful inside. Porches and little houses, boxes from W.W.II. Dreams of oil on our left, smoking pipes in air getting higher on methane, ethel, Elizabeth! Elizabeth! What dreams the American spirit had for you, like dreams of boyhood growing into manhood. Next stop, Rahway, Rahway with your prison observatory looking at me (but it’s quiet in this town) and sees me riding by, no riots in my souls for you. Hooded buildings to catch the light. I’m not lamenting all this. 336 Next stop, Rahway, please watch your step again. Tops of trees, like the empty lots and fields of Astoria in W.W.II uniting me to you. But what are looks compared to the soul of this land to its people of paradise of the sorrow in books, of my sorrow, from outside looking in or inside reflecting out. Outward, overturned, are all the detached states with which I’ve punched my heart in more ways than one. The silent birds through the closed window are calling to me but I can’t go, you know that, so compensate the stars and the tears of the moon like silver manifesting their way into our hearts. But to live on this earth and not be able to love. Look at the starving hundreds of millions. . . . . . . . . . “by the year 2000 all. . . . . . . . . . Yes! what will it be like? Not much different, we hope and yet don’t. 337 Deo te salve God help us have mercy on us Control us    control us we’re flying without stars and we’re out of sins to commit. Look at the starving of the earth and you talk about love more and more to desire, to possess even love more and more to transform the reflecting earth when it’s hard to change even one living soul. Already, next stop, Metro Park a new platform, a new vision a new futurist dream of super pseudo architecture to hide the fears in the middle of nowhere from nowhere to nowhere But listen to us Listen to this singing   Listen to the rails Deo te salve            of songs body jet May 10, 1976 Weeping at the crude greatness ready to take off on the wetness all alone I burn at the take off so invisible a god, off the ground into air I moan 338 It’s the most crude thing of fears I have ever seen in life this emulation of strife of a bird Although it scares the shit out of me it is close to ecstasy Love Eyes May 1976 I wish a spider would drop the dawn, as it comes just the same, as hair grows on our bodies. The black-legged god of the web is dancing and transforms the illusions of space, showing up as color in your eyes, to make disappear the disillusion in Hermes’ message that Aphrodite wants to take all of love back back from everywhere to her own breast. 339 What It’s Like January 4, 1977 I wake up, it’s morning the grass is still wet the origins of poverty are in my eyes, the sand in my toes flushes my entrails with acceptance and non-acceptance, with my torso like a lake of density. But don’t feel sorry for me I’m a son returning from the masses. I’m heavy with kisses in the squalling night, in the overdrive of death. What pastoral is left in the trees, what song is left in the cold wind, like rusty springs in my nostrils? The ecstasy of the shepherd falls apart with the singer. It is snowing and the sheep dog’s mouth tastes of blood Like my mouth when I drink the dawn and fly from you. 340 Espacio February 1, 1977 In this space I spend Time alone nothing leaves me cold but the north wind curves around our door like a continental sweeping Snow is in the night night is...