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History at that time. And I traded my nights
for Intensity; & I barter my right to Gold; & I d traded
my eyes much earlier, when I was circa say seven years old
for ears to hear Who was speaking, & just exactly who
was being told . . . . & I m glad
I hear your words so clearly
& I would not have done it
differently
& I m amused at such simplicity, even so,
inside each & every door. And now I m with you, instantly,
& I ll see you tomorrow night, and I see you constantly, hopefully
though one or the other of us is often, to the body-mind s own self
more or less out of sight! Taking walks down any street, High
Street, Main Street, walk past my doors! Newtown; Nymph Rd
(on the Mesa); Waveland
Meeting House Lane, in old Southampton; or BelleVue Road
in England, etcetera
Other roads; Manhattan; see them there where open or shut up behind
I ve traded sweet times for answers . . .
148
They don t serve me anymore. They still serve me on the floor.
Or,
as now, as floor. Now we look out the windows, go in &
out the doors. The Door.
(That front door which was but & then at that time My door).
I closed it
On the wooing of Helen. And so we left schools for her. For
She is not one bit fiction; & she is easy to see;
& she leaves me small room
For contradiction. And she is not alone; & she is not one bit
lonely in the large high room, &
invention is just vanity, which is plain. She
is the heart s own body, the body s own mind in itself
self-contained.
& she talks like you; & she has created truly not single-handedly
Our tragic thing, America. And though I would be I am not afraid
of her, & you also not. You, yourself, I,
Me, myself, me. And no, we certainly have not pulled down
our vanity: but
We wear it lightly here,
here where I traded evenly,
& even gladly
health, for sanity; here
where we live day-by-day
on the same spot.
My English friends, whom I love & miss, we talk to ourselves here,
& we two
rarely fail to remember, although we write seldom, & so must seem
gone forever.
In the stained sky over this morning the clouds seem about to burst.
What is being remembering
Is how we are, together. Like you we are always bothered, except
by the worst; & we are living
as with you we also were
149
fired, only, mostly, by changes in the weather. For Oh dear hearts,
When precious baby blows her fuse/it s just our way
of keeping amused.
That we offer of & as excuse. Here s to you. All the very best.
What s your pleasure? Cheers.
Boulder
Up a hill, short
of breath, then
breathing
Up stairs, & down, & up, & down again
to
noise
Your warm powerful Helloes
friends
still slightly breathless
in
a three-way street
hug
Outside
& we can move
& we move
Inside
to Starbursts of noise!
The human voice is how.
*
Lewis s, boyish, & clear; & Allen s, which persists,
150
& His, & Hers, & all of them Thems,
& then
Anne s, once again, (and as I am) Ted!
Then
O, Lady!, O, See, among all things which exist
O this!, this breathing, we.
Carrying a Torch
What thoughts I have of where I ll be, & when, & doing what
Belong to a ghost world, by no means my first,
And may or may not be entertaining; for example
living in a state of innocence in Kansas.
They hardly compare to when, passing through the air,
it thinks about the air.
Just as, now, you are standing here
Expecting me to remember something
When years of trying the opposite of something
Leave that vision unfulfilled.
Mostly I have to go on checking the windows will but don t break
while you get on with taking your own sweet time.
It s like coming awake thirsty & hungry, mid-way in dreams
you have to have;
It stops or changes if you don t get up
& it changes, by stopping, if you do.
You do. Because you re carrying a torch. A sudden circular bath
of symbols
Assails the structure. Better turn on the overhead light.
151
Work Postures
The rain comes and falls.
A host of assorted artillery come up out of the lake.
The man who knows everything is a fool.
In front of him is his head. Behind him, men.
Few listeners get close. And
Love must turn to power or it die.
This is a terrible present.
Is this any way to run a Railroad?
Flashing back 7 years I hear, you will never go
any place for the second time again.
It s hard to fight, when your body is not with you.
& it s equally hard not to.
There is the dread that mind & body are One.
The cruelty of fear & misery works here.
Excursion & Visitation
The rains come & Fall.
Good grief, it s Le Jongleur de Dieu!
A gun wheels out of an overcoat.
It s I will fight. But I won t rule.
So, pay, and leave. So, when the light turned green,
She went. I ve gone
to get everything. A Voice
to reappear in careers? Un-uh.
These are the days of naming things?
Watch my feet, not my answers.
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Oh, good grief, it s Le Jongleur de Dieu!
He s the godson of the ghost-dancers!
On Earth we call The Sea of Tranquility The North Atlantic.
And a voice once locked in the ground now speaks in me.
Whitman in Black
For my sins I live in the city of New York
Whitman s city lived in in Melville s senses, urban inferno
Where love can stay for only a minute
Then has to go, to get some work done
Here the detective and the small-time criminal are one
& tho the cases get solved the machine continues to run
Big Town will wear you down
But it s only here you can turn around 360 degrees
And everything is clear from here at the center
To every point along the circle of horizon
Here you can see for miles & miles & miles
Be born again daily, die nightly for a change of style
Hear clearly here; see with affection; bleakly cultivate compassion
Whitman s walk unchanged after its fashion
Southwest
We think by feeling and so we ride together
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