Sotère Torregian

for Shari Lewis (1934-1998) Once again, I've missed Lamb Chop's Play-Along Which, as it is, isn't broadcast in Papiamento, myself being the Centurion of the English where I am Aha! The Brook,Cherith running by here meaning the while I can “compare notes” with Elijah (Without a Jezebel to spook him!) Although admittedly in the movie Betty Davis is a winnter, ever quite without a struggle Especially in the Waltz sequence Which continues to reverberate in my head. So that I ask “Is it, I, then, that am “The Revenant”? This McTalk with its “scrolling windows” can never answer. But just now, could use A bit of that compote of “stewed pears With cinnamon” The discalced Carmelite Sisters fed San Juan De La Cruz thus, nursing and resusciating him back to “health” Which is, in itself, at best —a provisional state! Other than that,

“Sooner or later we'll all get to speak like Ted Berrigan” A donkey might consider itself a white stallion and the ear-phones oft the desert tune into us A hair-breaking pallor Nothing to be afraid of How long has the checker-board been “on the scene”? It's the miracle she-wolf. I know I am “too serious” For “The Daughters of Nothing already for Nothing” Who will erase my ulcer See its dry its dry it's got a combination My friends. What's left over? Pagliacci. In the guise of Enrico Caruso bangs his drum with hysteric eyes His girl-friend's inside he's beating the heart of his bass drum O that crazy clown Pagliacci! It seems we stood and talked like this before Don't Grab from me Baby I keep my face and open spigot a cry of the winds Fall all your fresh newspapers Inquisitors Happiness It is the divine stone the white stone with the name which no one knows New York City On Ted's 31st Birthday

Pagano, the arc of night fallen Ice on the underhanded lilies cakewalk Underground, in the garage caverns of Galatian eocene gift of the man in the panther-skin trailed by detectives of the fanfare aboveworld hewer or warrior   of the blue muscles in the saga-like Cranial canopy of the newscast's morning December All are gone and connect him with the language of light and darkness refusal   out of the   flowers of the staff came a dove by that time the apple will be old and forgotten in telecast streams of your eyes wife in symphony of blue porcelain your symphony in blue Sometime, 1965 Newark, N.J.

It's all in a day's work   the door from Life to Death Muhammed Ali comes in one door   and Russ Meyer comes in t' uther     While Ali Stages a CONFAB at 11.00 AM but doesn't show all the cameras and tape-recorders are left With their tongues hanging out in the heat Under the veranda I just recoveredd from food-poisoning & look up AUSTRALIA AND NEW ZEALAND SHAKE HANDS How'd you doo It is prophetic I meet a child born at the same hour and day as my oldest child I learn   your Anglo   grandfather became the ArchArchimandrite Of Alexandria “for all the Greeks downunder” MOHAMMED ALI GIVES his speech finally “On the Intoxications OF LIFE” (That's for Real, Folks) and tells one girl sitting up near the stage to pull her dress down because it was “showing” above her knee   That's it it's all Over wham boom! Now Russ MEYER must be the “greatest” genius of America (?) His “genius” lies   in that he is the only one to successfully make blood spurt from a victim on the silver screen like a slide trombone carying a hilarious note .... So many things have happened   The People's Liberation Army has seized the Israeli Ambassador ('Ray'.)   Bedford- Stuyvesant exploded again   (I wonder what's happening on Killens' block?)   and lava has overflowed on  (Mt) Aetna (again) Can't keep upt with it all This Hermaphrodite   running up and down the stairs with a sword   Hey! The doors slam open  the crowds emerge Like an age ashamed of itself Like an elephant with a  caulifflower ear      Some are doing A St. Vitus dance and shooting fireworks out of cactus-launchers You come toward me like a diffident haystack I'm talking to you all the time you pretend not to hear me You're with your two pals   (One of them the “returned” of the Boogey Woogies)   the road parts us   like a part in the hair of the whole Earth   and splits me with it The stars make a sound like a tuning-folk Maybe I'm learning anew lanaguage to speak a newlanguage Maybe What is this   Cult of the Fedora hat and the jalopy of the heart Rose of Lima   Unbeliever that I am  I believe in you so much “Plebiscite”              “Dolores” .... “Quitting Time” Washerwomen in the elephant grass   're listening Once again I come upon an evening 5,000 mi. away from (New York) the mirage of “The City” become so obsessive I see Skyscrapers appear moving through the fog on horses' legs! “With no interjection...,oh?” New York  my poems are always an elegy to you The horses see me coming the horses smell the sunset wing Zapata...in whiteshadow still rides on it Gold-club-headed exorcized Jewish demons happily hopping backwards May 25, 1971 2405 Alpine Road, Ca.