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On Fourteenth street the bugles blow, Bugles blow, bugles blow. The red, red, red, red banner floats Where sweating angels split their throats, Marching in burlap petticoats, Blow, bugles, blow. God is a ten car Bronx express, Red eyes round, red eyes round. "Oh where is my lustful lamb tonight, His hair slicked down and his trousers tight? I'll grind him back to my glory light!" Roll, subway, roll. Heaven is a free amusement park, Big gold dome, big gold dome. Movies at night: "The life she led." Everyone sleeps in one big bed. The stars go around inside your head. Home, sweet home. On Fourteenth street the bugles blow, Bugles blow, bugles blow, The torpid stones and pavements wake, A million men and street-cars quake In time with angel breasts that shake, Blow, bugles, blow!

As I went up by Ovillers In mud and water cold to the knee, There went three jeering, fleering spectres, That walked abreast and talked of me. The first said, ‘Here’s a right brave soldier That walks the dark unfearingly; Soon he’ll come back on a fine stretcher, And laughing for a nice Blighty.’ The second, ‘Read his face, old comrade, No kind of lucky chance I see; One day he’ll freeze in mud to the marrow, Then look his last on Picardie.’ Though bitter the word of these first twain Curses the third spat venomously; ‘He’ll stay untouched till the war’s last dawning Then live one hour of agony.’ Liars the first two were. Behold me At sloping arms by one – two – three; Waiting the time I shall discover Whether the third spake verity.

the gates of mercy slammed on the right foot. they would not permit return and bent a wing. there was no choice but to learn to boogaloo. those horrid days were not without their pleasure, learning to swear and wearing mock leather so tight eyes bulged, a stolen puff or two behind crack-broken backs and tickled palms in hallways dark, flirtations during choir practice as the body organized itself against the will (a mystic gone ballistic, not home but blood on the range) as one descended on this effed-up breeding hole of greeds—to suffer chronic seeings was’t hunger or holiness spurred the sighting?

We were running out of breath, as we ran out to meet ourselves. We were surfacing the edge of our ancestors’ fights, and ready to strike. It was difficult to lose days in the Indian bar if you were straight. Easy if you played pool and drank to remember to forget. We made plans to be professional — and did. And some of us could sing so we drummed a fire-lit pathway up to those starry stars. Sin was invented by the Christians, as was the Devil, we sang. We were the heathens, but needed to be saved from them — thin chance. We knew we were all related in this story, a little gin will clarify the dark and make us all feel like dancing. We had something to do with the origins of blues and jazz I argued with a Pueblo as I filled the jukebox with dimes in June, forty years later and we still want justice. We are still America. We know the rumors of our demise. We spit them out. They die soon.

1 I am a great American I am almost nationalistic about it! I love America like a madness! But I am afraid to return to America I’m even afraid to go into the American Express— 2 They are frankensteining Christ in America in their Sunday campaigns They are putting the fear of Christ in America under their tents in their Sunday campaigns They are driving old ladies mad with Christ in America They are televising the gift of healing and the fear of hell in America under their tents in their Sunday campaigns They are leaving their tents and are bringing their Christ to the stadiums of America in their Sunday campaigns They are asking for a full house an all get out for their Christ in the stadiums of America They are getting them in their Sunday and Saturday campaigns They are asking them to come forward and fall on their knees because they are all guilty and they are coming forward in guilt and are falling on their knees weeping their guilt begging to be saved O Lord O Lord in their Monday Tuesday Wednesday Thursday Friday Saturday and Sunday campaigns 3 It is a time in which no man is extremely wondrous It is a time in which rock stupidity outsteps the 5th Column as the sole enemy in America It is a time in which ignorance is a good Ameri-cun ignorance is excused only where it is so it is not so in America Man is not guilty   Christ is not to be feared I am telling you the American Way is a hideous monster eating Christ   making Him into Oreos and Dr. Pepper the sacrament of its foul mouth I am telling you the devil is impersonating Christ in America America’s educators & preachers are the mental-dictators of false intelligence   they will not allow America to be smart they will only allow death to make America smart Educators & communicators are the lackeys of the American Way They enslave the minds of the young and the young are willing slaves (but not for long) because who is to doubt the American Way is not the way? The duty of these educators is no different than the duty of a factory foreman Replica production   make all the young think alike dress alike   believe alike   do alike Togetherness   this is the American Way The few great educators in America are weak & helpless They abide   and so uphold the American Way Wars have seen such men   they who despised things about them but did nothing   and they are the most dangerous Dangerous because their intelligence is not denied and so give faith to the young who rightfully believe in their intelligence Smoke this cigarette doctors smoke this cigarette and doctors know Educators know   but they dare not speak their know The victory that is man is made sad in this fix Youth can only know the victory of being born all else is stemmed   until death be the final victory and a merciful one at that If America falls it will be the blame of its educators preachers   communicators   alike America today is America’s greatest threat We are old when we are young America is always new   the world is always new The meaning of the world is birth not death Growth gone in the wrong direction The true direction grows ever young In this direction what grows grows old A strange mistake   a strange and sad mistake for it has grown into an old thing while all else around it is new Rockets will not make it any younger— And what made America decide to grow? I do not know   I can only hold it to the strangeness in man And America has grown into the American Way— To be young is to be ever purposeful   limitless To grow is to know limit   purposelessness Each age is a new age How outrageous it is that something old and sad from the pre-age incorporates each new age— Do I say the Declaration of Independence is old? Yes I say what was good for 1789, is not good for 1960 It was right and new to say all men were created equal because it was a light then But today it is tragic to say it today it should be fact— Man has been on earth a long time One would think with his mania for growth he would, by now, have outgrown such things as constitutions manifestos codes commandments that he could well live in the world without them and know instinctively how to live and be —for what is being but the facility to love? Was not that the true goal of growth, love? Was not that Christ? But man is strange and grows where he will and chalks it all up to Fate   whatever be— America rings with such strangeness It has grown into something strange and the American is good example of this mad growth The boy man   big baby meat as though the womb were turned backwards giving birth to an old man The victory that is man does not allow man to top off his empirical achievement with death The Aztecs did it by yanking out young hearts at the height of their power The Americans are doing it by feeding their young to the Way For it was not the Spaniard who killed the Aztec but the Aztec who killed the Aztec Rome is proof   Greece is proof   all history is proof Victory does not allow degeneracy It will not be the Communists will kill America no   but America itself— The American Way   that sad mad process is not run by any one man or organization It is a monster born of itself   existing of its self The men who are employed by this monster are employed unknowingly They reside in the higher echelons of intelligence They are the educators the psychiatrists the ministers the writers the politicians the communicators the rich the entertainment world And some follow and sing the Way because they sincerely believe it to be good And some believe it holy and become minutemen in it Some are in it simply to be in And most are in it for gold They do not see the Way as monster They see it as the “Good Life” What is the Way? The Way was born out of the American Dream a nightmare— The state of Americans today compared to the Americans of the 18th century proves the nightmare— Not Franklin not Jefferson who speaks for America today but strange red-necked men of industry and the goofs of show business Bizarre! Frightening! The Mickey Mouse sits on the throne and Hollywood has a vast supply— Could grammar school youth seriously look upon a picture of George Washington and “Herman Borst” the famous night club comedian together at Valley Forge? Old old and decadent   gone the dignity the American sun seems headed for the grave O that youth might raise it anew! The future depends solely on the young The future is the property of the young What the young know the future will know What they are and do the future will be and do What has been done must not be done again Will the American Way allow this? No. I see in every American Express and in every army center in Europe I see the same face the same sound of voice the same clothes the same walk I see mothers & fathers no difference among them Replicas They not only speak and walk and think alike they have the same face! What did this monstrous thing? What regiments a people so? How strange is nature’s play on America Surely were Lincoln alive today he could never be voted President   not with his looks— Indeed Americans are babies all in the embrace of Mama Way Did not Ike, when he visited the American Embassy in Paris a year ago, say to the staff—“Everything is fine, just drink Coca Cola, and everything will be all right.” This is true, and is on record Did not American advertising call for TOGETHERNESS? not orgiasticly like today’s call nor as means to stem violence This is true, and is on record. Are not the army centers in Europe ghettos? They are, and O how sad   how lost! The PX newsstands are filled with comic books The army movies are always Doris Day What makes a people huddle so? Why can’t they be universal? Who has smalled them so? This is serious! I do not mock or hate this I can only sense some mad vast conspiracy! Helplessness is all it is! They are caught   caught in the Way— And those who seek to get out of the Way can not The Beats are good example of this They forsake the Way’s habits and acquire for themselves their own habits And they become as distinct and regimented and lost as the main flow because the Way has many outlets like a snake of many tentacles— There is no getting out of the Way The only way out is the death of the Way And what will kill the Way but a new consciousness Something great and new and wonderful must happen to free man from this beast It is a beast we can not see or even understand For it be the condition of our minds God how close to science fiction it all seems! As if some power from another planet incorporated itself in the minds of us all It could well be! For as I live I swear America does not seem like America to me Americans are a great people I ask for some great and wondrous event that will free them from the Way and make them a glorious purposeful people once again I do not know if that event is due   deserved or even possible I can only hold that man is the victory of life And I hold firm to American man I see standing on the skin of the Way America   to be as proud and victorious as St. Michael on the neck of the fallen Lucifer—

In america, I place my ring on your cock where it belongs. No horsemen bearing terror, no soldiers of doom will swoop in and sweep us apart. They’re too busy looting the land to watch us. They don’t know we need each other critically. They expect us to call in sick, watch television all night, die by our own hands. They don’t know we are becoming powerful. Every time we kiss we confirm the new world coming. What the rose whispers before blooming I vow to you. I give you my heart, a safe house. I give you promises other than milk, honey, liberty. I assume you will always be a free man with a dream. In america, place your ring on my cock where it belongs. Long may we live to free this dream.

1 AMETAS Think’st thou that this love can stand, Whilst thou still dost say me nay? Love unpaid does soon disband: Love binds love as hay binds hay. 2 THESTYLIS Think’st thou that this rope would twine If we both should turn one way? Where both parties so combine, Neither love will twist nor hay. 3 AMETAS Thus you vain excuses find, Which yourselves and us delay: And love ties a woman’s mind Looser than with ropes of hay. 4 THESTYLIS What you cannot constant hope Must be taken as you may. 5 AMETAS Then let’s both lay by our rope, And go kiss within the hay.

i. a wife will wean

I surrender my weapons: Catapult Tears, Rain-Cloud Hat, Lip Zip, Brittle Coat, Taut Teeth in guarded rows. Pluck this plate of armor from my ear, drop it in the Amnesty Bin, watch my sadness land among the dark shapes of memory. Unarmed, now see me saunter past Ticking Baggage, Loaded Questions, Gangs of Doubt; my love equips me. I swear, ever since your cheeky face span round I trust this whole bloody world.

Woke in the brume, lilacs like turf stars. The late fawn standing in his syrups; bucks down the swale chewing sedge. We move south to slopes of sleeping poppy, past the white alder, bending heads to scent of calx—in natural dark a man tries his hand at belonging. He with greave of hide, a born hood, lay with three spikes in the clay, green peak in the breeze. He whose breathing wrongs the still. You stir now to mend, to redress? To be one of us, after all this?