Philip Lamantia

Because the dark suit is worn it is worn warm with a black tie and a kiss at the head of the stairs When you hear the dark suit rip on the heart’s curb the hurt is big rose flesh caught on the orange woman’s buttons As you talk metropole monotone antique intelligence as you dress wounds by peyotl looming the boulevards women hunt their children from you who look out lit still inside of a dark suit

Choppers in the night husk the brilliants of thought Beyond the cities of patina grow caves of thought Coyote Hummingbird Owl are rivers of thought The lumens the pumpkins dance: pits of correspondence over the land Birds the dream tongues warble Iroquois Mojav é Ohlone Market Street of “The Mad Doctor” via the occult centers A gang of fox spirits at the crossroads Bandoleros set between the obliteration of grizzly bears painted by an Arcimboldist and the monstrance of bleeding chains Montezuma’s feathery headdress torn up in the boondocks of the Rosy Cross Coyote girls in myth-time At the central dream of edenic treasures The irrevocable annihilation of christian civilization is taking shape with carnivorous flowers of volcanic thought

The Due D’Aumal’s cannonballs Are being marshmellowed 370 years from their masonic inception Now lie on the Potomac The Due D’Aumal’s balls cannonaded Split Through mirror teeth Washington D.C. Black City of white rectangular bits of fear Blown fluff of fear O the Duke of Aumal’s balls are raging Yellow vermin white houses of fear And beautiful funky people Diamond heart D’Afrique Human blood human need Black booming emotional vibes of life White geometry of abstract cerebral death I really saw at Fort McNair In front of American General’s mansion A fir-tree tied down to a black coffiny box Jefferson’s phantom always rides tonight There’s a solar splendor burst from Eighteenth-Century Cannon of the Due D’Aumal I’m sure Citizen Lafayette was no dixiecrat

to Rimbaud Two pages to a grape fable dangles the swan of samite blood shaping sand from thistle covered fog Over sacred lakes of fever (polished mouths of the vegetable frog rolling to my iron venus) I drop the chiseled pear Standing in smoke filled valleys (great domains of wingless flight and the angel’s fleshy gun) I stamp the houses of withering wax Bells of siren-teeth (singing to our tomb refusal’s last becoming) await the approach of the incendiary children lighting the moon-shaped beast Every twisted river pulls down my torn-out hair to ratless columns by the pyramid’s ghost (watered basin of the temple stink) and all the mud clocks in haste draw their mermaid-feather swords (wrapped by Dust) to nail them into the tears of the sea-gull child The winter web minute flutters beneath the spider’s goblet and the whores of all the fathers bleed for my delight

crashes thru air where Lady LSD hangs up all the floors of life for the last time Blue Grace leans on white slime Blue Grace weaves in & out of L ü neburg and ‘My Burial Vault’ undulates from first hour peyote turnon Diderot hand in hand with the Marquis de Sade wraps himself up in a mexican serap é at Constitution Hall, Philadelphia, 1930 Blue Grace turns into the Count of Saint-Germain who lives forever cutting up George Washington dream of pyramid liquefactions from thighs of Versailles Blue Grace intimidates Nevil Chamberlain feels up Fillippo Marinetti and other hysterics of the phallic rose Blue Grace dressed up as automobile sperm My Claw of the future and the almond rose Rich the Vampire wears over the US Army — flags ! american flags ! flying like bats out of ‘ My Burial Vault ’ ! flood museums where Robespierre’s murder is plotted — floated from Texcoco, the Prince of Bogota caught redhanded sniffing forty cans of Berlin ether ! Hydrek ice blue teeth impersonates, psycho-kinetically, the resurrection of Blue Grace as prophetess of the anti-planet system Blue Grace under dark glasses getting out of one hundred white cars at once ! Cars of ectoplasmic tin-types go to the juncture where Blue Grace Glass is raped at the Court of Miracles, Mexico City, 1959 Blue Grace undressed reveals tattoo marks of Hamburg, sea & storm of Neptune-Pluto conjunction Rumors of war strafe the automation monster walking to universal assassination K & K and the russian poets suck Blue Grace’s opulent morsels, back & front The nicotine heaven of Bosch’s painting emanates the thousand beauties of Christopher Maclaine’s tool box of mechanical brass jewels Man, the marvel of masturbation arts, intersects Blue Grace at World’s Finale Orgasm Electro-Physic Apocalypse ! I sing the beauty of bodily touch with my muse, Blue Grace Spring 1963