in a rainbow
When he discovered
the perfect accommodation
of Universal Mind
in its active aspect
You’ll have a Period of Golden Age
Restitution of Loss
I’ve had all I can Eat
Revisiting Russet towns
Of long ago
On carpets of bloody sawdust
19th Chorus
Christ had a dove on his shoulder
– My brother Gerard
Had 2 Doves
And 2 Lambs
Pulling his Milky Chariot.
Immersed in fragrant old
spittoon water
He was Baptized by Iron
Priest Saint Jacques
De Fournier in Lowell
Massachusetts
In the Gray Rain Year,
1919
When Chaplin had Spats
and Dempsey
Drank no whisky by the track.
My mother saw him in heaven
Riding away, prophesying
Everything will be alright
Which I have learned now
By Trial & Conviction
In the Court of Awful Glots
20th Chorus
The Art of Kindness A Limping Sonnet
How the art of kindness doth excite,
The ressure and the intervening tear,
What horizons have they fled,
What old time’s blearest dream!
But atta pressure of the Two Team,
Finding nothing to surfeit the bloated corpse,
Rabbed the Whole She bo be bang
And rounded them a Team.
Beam! Bleam! So no one cared.
Except the High Financier.
Ah, but wine was never Made
That sorely tongues gave grace & aid.
Because I cant write a sonnet
Does that make me Shakespeare?
There’s a sonnet of the lotus
A rubicund rose
Death in a rose
Is prouder than satin
Emerald Isles
Blest
In the Archipelagoan
Shore –
Ferry’s arrived.
21st Chorus
Not very musical, the Western ear
– No lyres in the pines
compare with the palms
Western Sorcery is Sad Science –
Mechanics go mad
In Nirvanas of hair
and black oil
and rags of dust
and lint of flint
Hard iron fools raging in the gloom
But here’s East, Cambodian
Saloons of Air
And Clouds Blest.
Blakean Angel Town.
Grove of Beardy Trees
& Bearded Emptily –
Expressing Patriarchal
Authority
To us listeners
Of the Holy See
Saw,
said,
Saved
Saved my Bhikkucitas
22nd Chorus
Saved my bhikkucitos
for the holy hair
that was found wanting
in merde air –
Ninety devils jokin with me
And I’m running on the catwalk
At Margaritee
Jumping from car to car
In a 60 mile freight
Runnin up the pass maw
Tunnel Gore waited Ore
The fantastic steelsmoke
In choke mad tunnels
of Timbercountry Calif.
where if I’d-a fell,
I’d-a fell on peb pebbles
of sore iron grit,
of hard put to it
Importunate fool that I was,
I
