Wild Orphan
Blandly mother takes him strolling by railroad and by river -he's the son of the absconded hot rod angel- and he imagines cars and rides them in his dreams, so lonely growing up among the imaginary automobiles and dead souls of Tarrytown to create out of his own imagination the beauty of his wild forebears-a mythology he cannot inherit.
Will he later hallucinate his gods?
Waking among mysteries with an insane gleam of recollection?
The recognition- something so rare in his soul, met only in dreams -nostalgias of another life.
A question of the soul.
And the injured losing their injury in their innocence -a cock, a cross, an excellence of love.
And the father grieves in flophouse complexities of memory a thousand miles away, unknowing of the unexpected youthful stranger bumming toward his door.
Allen Ginsberg
Other author posts
Making The Lion For All Its Got -- A Ballad
I came home and found a lion in my room…[First draft of The Lion for Real CP 174-175]A lion met Americain the roadthey stared at each othertwo figures on the crossroads in the desert America The lion They leaped at each
Hum Bom!
Whom bomb We bomb'd them Whom bomb We bomb'd them
Those Two
That tree said I don't like that white car under me, it smells That other tree next to it said O you're always complaining you're a neurotic you can see by the way you're bent over
136 Syllables At Rocky Mountain Dharma Center
Tail turned to red sunset on a juniper crown a lone magpie cawks Mad at Oryoki in the shrine-room — Thistles blossomed late afternoon Put on my shirt and took it off in the sun walking the path to lunch A dandelion seed floats above...