Tears is the break of my brow, The moony tempestuous Sitting downIn dark railyards When to see my mother’s face Recalling from the waking vision
Sweet sad young tenor Horn slumped around neck Bearded full of junk Slouches waiting For Apocalypse,
April doesnt hurt here Like it does in New England The ground Vast and brown Surrounds dry towns
The story of man Makes me sick Inside, outside, I don’t know why Something so conditional
Birds singing in the dark —Rainy dawn.
I keep falling in love with my mother, I dont want to hurt her —Of all people to hurt. Every time I see her
Butte Magic of Ignorance Butte Magic Is the same as no—Butte All one light Old Rough Roads
And how sweet a story it is When you hear Charley Parker tell it, Either on records or at sessions, Or at offical bits in clubs,
The taste of rain —Why kneel?
The wheel of the quivering meat conception Turns in the void expelling human… Pigs, turtles, frogs, insects, nit… Mice, lice, lizards, rats, roan
I lie on my back at midnight hearing the marvelous strange chim… of the clocks, and know it’s mid— night and in that instant the whol… world swims into sight for me
The stars in the sky In vain The tragedy of Hamlet In vain The key in the lock
Describe fires in riverbottom sand, and the cooking; the cooking of hot dogs spitted in whittled sticks over flames of woodfire
The great hanging weak teat of In… on the map The Fingernail of Malaya The Wall of China The Korea Ti—Pousse Thumb
But a tree has a long suffering shapeIs spread in half by 2 limbed fate Rises from gray rain