We have a friend
that invites us to makes pavilions out of gold
with fish and seaweed, it helps the family to fly,
as the dreams fly
and to wake up from a cesspool
in the back side of the shade
under a naked Trinity the birds,
that vast landscape
and it brings forth a relief.
Seeit will teach you everything
without useless words,
if you want, from top to bottom
with a suit
and
drinking Gin and Tonic.
Jay with pills, Keith AAwe have a friend that it has thousand friends
that they have gotten to flap their arms
in an effort to fly.
Why it springs wings,unfortunate garlands
served with with oceanic agony.
See,look around
to the grate
granting to desires its whims,
with strong hands, flexing the knees
while contemplating sailing a boat.
Jay, Keith, you and meWe have a friend that
Unite us
that show us the way
where there are a lot of escape routes
the fury of the wind
without losing the fall,
4 seconds, 75 miles an hour.
(Golden Gate Bridge)
Way
I May regret and wish to return to the platform,
Too late Falling, Falling.
After falling, A whip splits my spine,all that I was in life is but a silhouette marked
by a chalk outline.
And what if I shot myself ?The Index in its depth
feeling all the weight,
these spasms like dread discharges
to turn out the light, a night of brains blown out.
And what if it were a noose pulling tight around my neck?The air leaving, the eyes bulging, blood bypassing the head,
memories calling,
painting the face red as a distorted Carnival Clown.
For this last tripdragging with great effort
the fragile combination of nerves
urging in a swell of spasm in exact coordinates.
For this last tripthe toung uncoiling like a serpant
an afertaste on the palate
of life's last juice,
the veins bursting like fragile glass
scattering throughout the Universe.
To sleep foreverdreaming of life
a deaf and dark nigh
t always arrives
plundering the body
full of Love.
Tenderloin (San Francisco)
crawling naked in a love parade,
the return of ambulances
on roadless paths,
when I'm on the verge of blissful highs
I yearn for
caresses,
to lull me to sleep
in the night,
six months have slipped away
among incense over graves,
and a celestial restlessness,
visions of Jupiter compacted into pipes.
This face cannot be mine,the face of Sunday
at noon.
If it weren't noonand had I something to do,
these damn ambulance sirens
wouldn't torment me
with their regrets.
How do I reclaim, with punches,the street's tranquility?
How do I demolish, with an axe,
the memories in my veins
without submerging in a tub
to masturbate?
There's a putrid smell of beer,so romantic yet so pathetic,
Ideas of escape linger,
along with enduring words.
If I had a dog, its barkingwould convince me, but I have no dog,
only nights that bring me joy in contempt,
and instead of protesting,
everything pushes me
towards terrible and sorrowful laughter.
Third floor (Hotel Warfield)
and count to three,
it is incomplete,
and an empty longing,
full of symbols that mean nothing
and I create heavenly memories
that soon demand of me,
cutting my time in half.
A heavy sleep arrives before midnightand I wake up tired in the morning
between visions,
and no one answers me to start again
as though it had a meaning,
I wake up, and do things routinely done
by those living,
just a pulse with no name
it looks like we are laid out
there are sounds that frighten.
While in the streets with my brothers,when in the shadows of the night,
just looking at numbers
I feel sick and hurt all over.
Going up and going downas children play in a slide
below there is death
pushing and shoving,
foaming at the mouth
they all cheer
below they are all gray,
then purple,
there is no sun.
As I descend from the third floor,it begins my coming together
to solid ground.
Translation: Keith O'Donnell