I Have Folded My Sorrows

- 1925-1986

I have folded my sorrows into the mantle of summer night,
Assigning each brief storm its allotted space in time,
Quietly pursuing catastrophic histories buried in my eyes.
And yes, the world is not some unplayed Cosmic Game,
And the sun is still ninety-three million miles from me,
And in the imaginary forest, the shingled hippo becomes the gray unicorn.
No, my traffic is not with addled keepers of yesterday’s disasters,
Seekers of manifest disembowelment on shafts of yesterday’s pains.
Blues come dressed like introspective echoes of a journey.
And yes, I have searched the rooms of the moon on cold summer nights.
And yes, I have refought those unfinished encounters.
      Still, they remain unfinished.
And yes, I have at times wished myself something different.

The tragedies are sung nightly at the funerals of the poet;
The revisited soul is wrapped in the aura of familiarity. 

Abomunist Manifesto

ABOMUNISTS JOIN NOTHING BUT THEIR HANDS OR LEGS, OR
        OTHER SAME.

ABOMUNISTS SPIT ANTI-POETRY FOR POETIC REASONS AND
        FRINK.

ABOMUNISTS DO NOT LOOK AT PICTURES PAINTED BY PRESI-
        DENTS AND UNEMPLOYED PRIME MINISTERS.

IN TIMES OF NATIONAL PERIL, ABOMUNISTS, AS REALITY AMERI-
        CANS, STAND READY TO DRINK THEMSELVES TO DEATH FOR
        THEIR COUNTRY.

ABOMUNISTS DO NOT FEEL PAIN, NO MATTER HOW MUCH IT
        HURTS.

ABOMUNISTS DO NOT USE THE WORD SQUARE EXCEPT WHEN
         TALKING TO SQUARES.

ABOMUNISTS READ NEWSPAPERS ONLY TO ASCERTAIN THEIR
         ABOMINUBILITY.

ABOMUNISTS NEVER CARRY MORE THAN FIFTY DOLLARS IN
         DEBTS ON THEM.

ABOMUNISTS BELIEVE THAT THE SOLUTION TO PROBLEMS OF
         RELIGIOUS BIGOTRY IS, TO HAVE A CATHOLIC CANDIDATE
         FOR PRESIDENT AND A PROTESTANT CANDIDATE FOR POPE.

ABOMUNISTS DO NOT WRITE FOR MONEY; THEY WRITE THE
         MONEY ITSELF.

ABOMUNISTS BELIEVE ONLY WHAT THEY DREAM ONLY AFTER
         IT COMES TRUE.

ABOMUNIST CHILDREN MUST BE REARED ABOMINUBLY.

ABOMUNIST POETS, CONFIDENT THAT THE NEW LITERARY FORM
         “FOOT-PRINTISM” HAS FREED THE ARTIST OF OUTMODED
         RESTRICTIONS, SUCH AS: THE ABILITY TO READ AND WRITE,
         OR THE DESIRE TO COMMUNICATE, MUST BE PREPARED TO
         READ THEIR WORK AT DENTAL COLLEGES, EMBALMING
         SCHOOLS, HOMES FOR UNWED MOTHERS, HOMES FOR WED
         MOTHERS, INSANE ASYLUMS, SANE ASYLUMS, U. S. O. CAN-
         TEENS, KINDERGARTENS, AND COUNTY JAILS. ABOMUNISTS
         NEVER COMPROMISE THEIR REJECTIONARY PHILOSOPHY.

ABOMUNISTS REJECT EVERYTHING EXCEPT SNOWMEN.

West Coast Sounds—1956

San Fran, hipster land,
Jazz sounds, wig sounds,
Earthquake sounds, others,
Allen on Chestnut Street,
Giving poetry to squares,
Corso on knees, pleading,
God eyes.
Rexroth, Ferlinghetti,
Swinging, in cellars,
Kerouac at Locke’s,
Writing Neal
On high typewriter,
Neal, booting a choo-choo,
On zigzag tracks.
Now, many cats
Falling in,
New York cats,
Too many cats,
Monterey scene cooler,
San Franers, falling down.
Canneries closing.
Sardines splitting
For Mexico.
Me too. 

Lorca

   Split ears of morning earth green now,
Love and death twisted in tree arms,
   Come love, throw out your nipple
to the teeth of a passing clown.

Spit olive pits at my Lorca,
Give Harlem’s king one spoon,
At four in the never noon.
Scoop out the croaker eyes
   of rose flavored Gypsies
Singing García,
In lost Spain’s
Darkened noon.