BIRDIE'S SHAVEN!
but do not tell me about Death
I'm no umbrella like those other men
impervious to th'chilling rain of life
I'm one Hell of a soggy shirt
soaked-through, short-sleeved
although I'll grant you ample enough
to adapt to the quick, unexpected
Explosions, collapses or expansions
(romances): O was & were! so
do not tell me about death
I'll tell you about life, instead: Tell you
what--I'll predict that
... the most popular
T.V. Show of The Next Century will be
BOWLING FOR SEX,
wait'n see
... for the Sun
moves not all the while (down here
somebody challenged me with: What'r you doing
with that hammer?
... I build my poetry
that way--into a multimirrored funhouse:
peeking here & there: I glimpse (maybe)
a bit of myself (only as much as anyone
else may care to catch sight of
before head'n home), Th'Sea moving softly
upon immensity like some corpulent cat
stalking her shadow-Soul, and a too young prophet
shows us --What?
... but wait: How not to feel
(maybe): there's Future in it. O don't tell me
instead--forgive me (for weeping): I'm in th'final
moments of my delusion, or some-such shit
whenever you have been called upon to look
you've had to content yourself only with:
the empty discovery of things which can't go beyond
themselves (Imagination) a lot of lemmings
thinking they're getting a free ride to the beach
and yet a prophet too young for tricks, may yet show you
something
... (the frogs in France croaking
with a French accent, or the greatest diet supplement:
Horse Puckies--not only does one eat smaller portions
but it also spoils your appetite for everything else)
Superlatives? Gazonkas like tidal waves, or
Th'Most Human Truth of All (that Stink Sticks), that
it is thousands of times better to live in a society
that is shocked by the report of evil deeds
than in a society astonished when it hears of good
ones), O we have come to expect them...
Mass murder (is) no longer of concern:
Let's turn our tears unto death individual!
But let me warn you: what I have to show you
is something which your so creative hands,
recreating brains... won't be able to break
--And this fact will so infuriate you
that you yourself...
MIGHT!
... yes, even You
magicians of The Modern
(who can conjure up
any number of toys & vanish them
all--with but a wave of your wallets) guts
looking down the cliffs dominating th'valley
in their so cool mysteriousness (of flesh
love) failing to recognize that
if it's not th'stones th'ones who spill their guts
it's only because they're not the ones possessed of
them &
... centuries passed
... then again I met the prophet
too young, one day, who said: "In O a world
of sour grapes, my friend..."
... the only thing that makes any sense
(to the drunks, at any rate) is wine,
wine... And, at any rate:
...We have operators who speak Spanish
24-hours a day (even though they only work here 8
of those--their family & friends swear to it)
"Millions for crowd-control!" but not one
penny... amongst the presidential candidates
calling for Partial Unity... not 1 penny (even if
if saves a million) for (a) starving child
... I'll tell you more about it later
si: The beauty of Man is unique (and thus
a tragedy), only the beauty of Nature is without
tragedy, yes: Today you can live a long life, but
you still have to go through a lot of bother (read
the fine print): this has been the ebb tide
of th'afternoon
... senseless bath of blood & blue
without much form or joy washing the universe
--a shapeless throat broke which (but breaking
in a scream) might have gone on for a moment only
had not eternity/infinity/I chosen to perish
in its midst--No more
... tell me no further lies about
death... [after which: all th'forests beasts
must have thought they were getting to eat The Wind
finally & not with a little
... relish--licking
the too transparent glass-panes (separating them
from our gentle humanity): two distinct beings (the one
who was THE original & the other one: the most original)
... QUALIFICATION:
from our humanity: Our excellent
good & so good humanity & good... like some fool
I asked him "Why do things happen!?" And he
answered me:
... "Pásan las cosas porque son 208
pequeñas, insignificantes, porque són cási
ínfinitesimas... las cosas pásan porque
casi no son nada, porque escasaménte son
cosas, las cosas pasan porque no importan
..." and so on he went on & on, I not
understanding him (and not because I'm stupid
although I am, but) because I don't speak Greek
Precision is for screws & nuts
--It rusts them
(where it hurts the most)... But, why are you going?
--You can live here as long as I let you
... I'm off to where I may also make
some of the rules ... Headline:
THE DESERT:
... a dried-out prophet
with nothing better to do than build (a bridge
before he came to it) came into town, his dirty head
scarffed in inefficient bandages, limping & cursing
the Sun & begging for some water--such a sight
all th'villagers gathered around him as he spoke
(spitting th'dust upon the ground) where the green was
killed by his dryness speaking, he said "I will be
your rules-maker now" about the great glens O
so marvelously overbrimmed with the fresh, fresh green
he there had seen and th'wet, wet worlds all to be had
if they but followed him across the desert at hand
and abandoned their piteous green well in hand
so th'villagers stoned him to death for liar
& had all his followers torn apart by horses
like French aristocrats did to democrats (back
in the good ole days before July 14th), and
when th'newspapers asked them how they had known
his words were lies--they said:
prophets have no place
where people have already made up their minds
on their own future...
so do not tell me about Death ...
either yours or mine
The newspaper reporters asked then
yet a more basic question
--one which puzzled them to no end:
Who had told them they had already
made up their minds?
Oh-Oh (they said)