Chicago Morning To Philip Guston Under a red face, black velvet shyness Milking an emaciated gaffer. God lies down Here. Rattling of a shot, heard From the first row. The president of the United States And the Director of the FBI stand over a dead mule. “Yes, it is nice to hear the fountain With the green trees around it, as well as People who need me.” Quote Lovers of speech unquote. It’s a nice thought & typical of a rat. And, it is far more elaborate Than expected. And the thing is, we don’t need that much money. Sunday morning; blues, blacks, red & yellow wander In the soup. Gray in the windows’ frames. The angular Explosion in the hips. A huge camel rests in a massive hand Casts clouds a smoggish white out & up over the Loop, while Two factories (bricks) & a fortress of an oven (kiln) Rise, barely visible inside a grey metallic gust. “The Fop's Tunic.” She gets down, off of the table, breaking a few more plates. Natives paint their insides crystal white here (rooms) Outside is more bricks, off-white. Europe at Night.
From The Selected Poems of Ted Berrigan, published by University of California. Copyright © 2011 by Ted Berrigan. Used by permission of the publisher. All rights reserved.