Brother Tom should
of this particular illness
. . . and, in fact, he did . . .
It is so horrible
to see your
and understand it
Georgia O’Keefe is
Just Alright With Me
but a true shame ‘twould be
to miss Anders Zorn
at the Legion . . .
. . . and not be continued . . .
Grant Park Chi Town
“Every one is on duty”
The siege is not forgotten
& may never be redeemed
Chicago’s front yard
& a great place to
smoke ganja or
tobacco from Iwan Ries
escape from the loop to which
you can only hope to return
& welcome Amerika back to the site
of its broadcast accent
Your amazing racism
Your great good & bad movies
Your bars where people still talk to each other
Your Art Institute with its Picassos and Braques
Your Old Town that wasn’t really & isn’t there now
although they still sing the blues nearby
Sandburg, Pynchon, Mailer
all wrote about you
& mentioned that
the river flowed uphill
in places here and there
& alluded to the sewage it entailed
So this is the end my only
How do you plead?
Arachnophobia will not do
nor will the invasion
of the body mashers.
“You’ll never take me alive . . . cropper.”
“Heaven awaits, albeit reluctantly.”
“Linnets to you, ya’ big galoot!”
Bang Bang! Simper Fidelia!
Be Mercury, set feathers to thy heels and fly!
Cowboys trying to change their ways
make the sign of the double humpbacked whale.
Great players on songs like this,
sz the Right Rev. Billy C. Wirtz,
great players like this
all they want to do is rock.
Rev. Billy has his problems too
although they cannot be or ever have been
as serious as the Ayatollah’s or
some guy with a cat by that name
in a movie full of hoodlums
wave action, and uncountable packs of Gitanes.
Every moped postal delivery fella in
an even not so Gay Paree
would like to sleep with Cynthia
with the Eiffel tower for reference preference
& ghost riders in the sky.
Yippee ki-yay futher mucker!
(in a Southern Accent)
Strange doctor of love
how can you stand to
give your love like Candy?
birds & their songs
demand we sentient beings
turn one and all
to worship the rich
and our fossilized legacy
& their dinosaur ancestors
who fuel fools such as we
and then every now
and then we find more
such as we &
even more such as I.
The 13-14 drought
Greetings old friend, from the interstices
where no matter how we cut it the program
puts spaces between our lines, whether we
want them or not, let alone
the horses they rode in on. It is a good road
to ride, of course. A fine course, rated or otherwise.
Slope and a professional to assist
us with our problems, personal or otherwise.
Even so, here we are in San Francisco waiting
for divine intervention fully aware at 65 that
there will be none. Profound meditation cannot
even intervene or make a difference. Abused,
we await deliverance, a drop or two slowly or
even right now. Short that, how about dinner, huh?
When the rains came I saw myself as you
knew me. I dreamed I saw Tuli Kupferberg
alive as you or me. There was Tuli and me
and rain on the roof. Someone a lot like
you impressed although not very by all
those poems coming like junk mail. And (not so
much) with many happy belated birthday returns.
The dream was a pleasure . . . for a roller coaster ride.
Like cats, racing, in a state of grace
and then lying on their sides, asleep.
What else there be, pray tell, to do?
Pray? Not likely here, not to any deity you
or me or Tuli or rain on the roof might
find comprehensible. There she is though!