He's Not Here No One's There
I’m shaking from another man
but remembering beating you
on Sunday evening, a pal of
solitude as Veruschka before
Adolph Hitler’s lawyers did
a job on me, for leaving town
alone over the weekend, subject
ing you to torture every time
you fail to honor your invitation
of between classes gloomy concern
bringing me to the dam and presenting
yourself as basin to a word uttered
three years ago, impatient to act,
unable to turn off because of the high
way, in haste, rejecting your suggestion,
“I know a motel,” coming to my room instead,
prone amid sheets taking off my shirt and
socks, the ghost of Rudolf clinging to my
limbs, Bille hearing this afternoon your screams
from prayer, as I lay down beside you, only to have
a foreign influence invade our desire —force you
through the hall to presume betrayal and revenge
because you use the security of disharmony as a
weapon, a tool to enter my foreign they say naivete
and assume my ecstasie, when what you receive
turns out a beating, like today for Buffalo’s five years.
At your mercy, in finance and further education;,
strictly adhering to, in the majority tenets of this nation.
A path decided by personal, forefatherhood, unborn short.
Association spokes out from underneath us, as they pull the rug
upon
chairwop wipes from former exposure too often, even down the
street
truncated as those tanks and pickup van and stolen sedans
horrified .
slobbering duplicities, either in the JUNGLe, the Woolworth
lunch counter or jewelry time sqwake.
Confessedly the poet in our Lady’s violation is unrelated to this
author, The prince or kind supercedes a matriculated philosopher.
Who under the influence of sturporifics has not been one. POE,
king or PHILomena’s caged Charlie PARKEr; I called you DUKe,
like the fag deviltry remained serious, more tedious in DORI, A
bachelor TESs with these titles losing my place in Herr WER
FEL’S text, I plan to skim through his LENGTHy TREATise on
a LADy voyant, as ma reine Troubetskoy approaching her FESt
day, the ELEVENth voyage over FEBruary’s so many morons.
CONGREGATe in BOSTON, on orders from the devil, toujours:
tens of thousands of them, I in these compilations of my past
and its happinesses must pROTect MYSEIf, and I SUe the text
from VIKINg ("I saw a lady all in white with a blue girdle and
a golden upon each foot . . ." "Ah, Mama, Bernadette saw a young
lady dressed all in white and with a sky—blue girdle in the Massa
bielle cave. . . and she had naked feet with golden roses on them
Number 87
With this testimony first hand, replenished herein a very famous
screen play and world—famous novel, ( have gone about the town
even surveying wedding veils, and trystingpiles, since last fall was
so rewarding with two poems on religious worship accepted by
publishers, one in Sasheeta and the other in Stone Soup,
dealing upon inviolability. How proud I am both have been
taken aggrandized through history, as quoted earlier in Satchel’s.
Have you ever been put to a fashion show? I have only
been to two, both in town as Diana Vreeland and Christy from
The Globe. Sara Fredericks, a salon on NEWBURy STREEt
where I WAS ASSissting my SIS Angels
