henry’s nose pressed it open
that solid door
light spread on frescoes
and stencils a plaster canvas
to an artists heart,
inside heavy paws
trod carefully
hazel eyes saw much,
virginia talking to E.M
flashbulb pop
of camera indulgence,
smoke swirled in wisps,
that kissed many brows
and lips,
laying still on the cool
floor
henry knew
this place was special
as where those who walked
and would as ghosts
in time to come.
ashfoot, ashfoot
under moonball capsules of starlight
take two tubes of the sea
and with hipster tone,
squeeze upon my subterranean pinnacle
handcuffed to a midnight train
brakeman with burning lantern
punched me to nothing more,
take two more boxes to burn
smoke and steam
play it cool
sinister strapped luggage fell
to which i became lashed
tunnel -bone condemnation
under white haired
fawns feet
voices from regions unknown
lifted me away
to churches with horns
and fed capsules of better things
hopping away the vision
pierced bone
i was no longer
the bum
with sorry leg
dada at dVerse poets an interesting cut up as i used Gregory Corso In the Tunnel Bone of Cambridge which is below
IN THE TUNNEL-BONE OF CAMBRIDGE
1
In spite of voices-
Cambridge and all its regions
Its horned churches with fawns’ feet
Its white-haired young
and ashfoot legions-
I decided to spend the night
But that hipster-tone of my vision agent
Decided to reconcile his sound with the sea leaving me flat
North of the Charles
So now I’m stuck here-—
a subterranean
lashed to a pinnacle
2
I don’t know the better things that people know
All I know is the deserter condemned me to black-
He said: Gregory, here’s two boxes of night one tube of moon
And twenty capsules of starlight, go an’ have a ball-
He left and the creep took all my Gerry Mulligan records with him
3
But he didn’t cut out right then
I saw him hopping
On Brattle street today-
he’s got a bum leg
on his way to the tunnel-bone
He made like he didn’t see me
He was trying to play it cool
4
Wild in the station-bone
Strapped in a luggage vision-bone
made sinister by old lessons of motion
The time-tablebone said: Black
Handcuffed to a minister
Released in a padded diesel
The brakeman punched my back: Destination, black
Out the window I could see my vision agent
hopping along the platform
swinging a burning-lantern-bone like mad
All aboard, he laughed, all aboard
Far into the tunnel-bone I put my ear to the ear
of the minister–and I could hear
the steel say to the steam
and the steam to the roar: a black ahead
A black ahead a black and nothing more.
two glasses unwashed
sat upended fragile in their shine,
opened bourbon
a long mouthful held then swallowed
his bourbon her breakfast,
moving from one room to another
morning cool on skin
she wore only panties,
typewriter on oak
bold keys hold promise
again it was his
the cat shared moved onto lap
as sitting down,
chatter of keys as poetry flowed,
to him she was a disposable muse,
she did not care
being on all fours
fucked from behind
staring at cotton bed linen
her mind could think
without his face ,
all he needed was the mirror to pose,
weave of cotton held a story
as she thought of next poem
he too had release,
it was a kind of love,
they used each other in
different ways
kiss and whisper in her ear
hair dyed nocturnal sheen,
this clown without sanity
also had no morality,
for him love was the crazy light
of all dead angels,
his heart navigated slums of heaven,
babylon a drink to satisfy
and of those there where many,
at the door watched as she
burned on the brazier of sweetness,
leaving behind
he would go now and
make seven nymphs homeless,
in his mind words dwell,
a mirrors reflection
shows glance of vain apathy
downstairs and out
he went walking brisk
on soft sprung sidewalk,
there will come a last day
where pages no longer speak,
she was far behind
no turning back,
sorrow clung to his own breasts form
blood of his lust drained
pausing to turn into the bar
instead of heading home
will wait on tonight
she put her hand upon his chest,
felt the movement
something inside,
beneath flesh wrapping
and bone protection,
a beating heart
gift wrapped in his warmth
love and security,
it was for her,
tatooed hallmark
her name imprinted
seared as a lasting impression,
to her touch
it revealed a long and
future life,
of happiness and
everyday happenings,
lost socks and incidental kisses,
that was all she needed
an aortic ruby,
wrapped in the one gift
she loved
life
itch/
raw pressed flesh sore
beyond scabs flecked insolence
sigh/
blood threads awful sign
of tangible fluid
life in crimson
listen/
orchestrated pain
handheld waves of distraction,
tainted tongue sings mettallic
milky/
secreted thoughts weeping tears,
unfurled ideals a barren burned flag,
lighten the heart as you pick
rushes/
into the arena
no pressed olive leaves or branches
all that was ancient spilled
overnight into turgid oceans swell
glassy/
eyes of expectant ones
embracing the sore flesh your body
offers
tragic tide of words come
slicks/
the machinations of policy
as the wounded lain in constitution
heart blasts trumpet
from the top
all visibility is bright in context
and the healing begins
velvetmedia 