In 1969
Some called it the Summer of Love, & although the clustered,
Motionless leaves that overhung the streets looked the
As ever, the same as they did every summer, in 1967,
Anybody with three dollars could have a vision
Some called it the Summer of Love, & although the clustered,
Motionless leaves that overhung the streets looked the
As ever, the same as they did every summer, in 1967,
Anybody with three dollars could have a vision
At Wilshire & Santa Monica I saw an opossum Trying to cross the street
It was late, the street Was brightly lit, the opossum would take A few steps forward, then back away from the breath Of moving traffic
People coming out of the ba...
One was a bay cowhorse from Piedra & the other was a washed out
And both stood at the rail of the corral & both went on
In each effortless tail swish, the flies rising, then congregating
Around their eyes & muzzles &...
My youth
I hear it mostly in the long, volleying Echoes of billiards in the pool hall where I spent it all, extravagantly, believing My delicate touch on a cue would last for years
Outside the vineyards vanished under rain,
And the ...
My poem would eat nothing
I tried giving it water but it said no, worrying me
Day after day,
I held it up to the llight, turning it over, but it only pressed its lips more tightly together
There are places where the eye can starve,
But not here
Here, for example,
The Piazza Navona, & here is his narrow
There is this sunny place where I imagine him
A park on a hill whose grass wants to
Into dust, & would do so if it
For the rain, & the fact that it is only
1
Looking into the eyes of Gerard de
You notice the giant sea crabs rising
Which is what
In the Borghese,
Caravaggio, painter of boy whores, street punk, exile & murderer,
Left behind his own face in the decapitated, swollen, leaden-eyed head of Goliath,
And left the eyelids slightly open, & left on the face of ...
Now that the Summer of Love has become the moss of
And the shadowy mouths of tunnels & all the tunnels lead into the city,
I'm going to put the one largely forgotten, swaying figure of Ediesto
Right in front of you so you can wa...
The cop holds me up like a fish;he feels the huge bonessurrounding my eyes,and he runs a thumb under them,lifting my eyelidsas if they wereenvelopes filled with the night
Now he turnsmy head back and forth, gently,until I'm so tame and stillI...
The trees went up the
And over it
Then the dry grasses of the pasture
Only a kind of blonde