howling idiots (myself) who
spat on store windows ****** & still half-drunk,
leering strangers in cars & stars
creeping from the sky to show teeth in wry grins
while
balancing nimbly on balcony railings
gazing thru heavy curtains to watch                     russian
                                                         ­                girls
******* on cold leather couches
shedding bulbous slavic tears which
ride crests 'f ghostly, high cheekbones &
at th'same time off some
where in drumheller, alberta
                                                             skeletons of ancient
kingly lizards rise & rattle like
                                                            ­ 1000 triassic maracas
recording spanish mariachis in
                                  bloodbath bullrings.

"the ways of God are
       strange,"* said a bishop once  ,
                                                              i read some
                  where,               in large
compiled             scholar-
ly    tome of e. language — thick,
like long, dark legs of
                                                   exotic dancers two
                                                   nights past,
spinning ,
                     while i drank &
drank   ( & drank) .

  . .
       all morning i
have stared at Maclise's 'Madeline after Prayer'
         &
i think sadly i
                                          may be in love ..

i heard your clear deep
                           voice     (singin’)
last year in
                 evening san antone
bleeding from truckstop P.A.
where i                                  bought cactus burritos &
                  1 basket
                                  heavensent peaches &
thanked you
for ev’ry one b/c only
someone like you could                              send a gift

so humble
    .

GERONIMO wherefore
are thou now?
what scaffold have you fallen
                                                       from & stared
w/milk-pale eyes
                                 at Reverend Cacey
(who stands murmuring   ,  
                     4
pound golden crucifix in out
stretched hands ? )

(the world is very scared
o
  f
     you..)

(why else would
                               ol' blood   hound
Joe Horn
                  be  put  on  yr  trail  ? )
                                                               raise thy sharps rifle 'bove yr head & eat out
                                                                ­                                                          
                                                                                                                    th'sun !!

                 (i declare you are a mountain poet.)

***** alleys weeping garbage (fish                         heads)
            40s (alhambra) for 1 euro & a new leather
jacket;

football games in parks
carpeted broken glass/kids laughing.
sun like a strange shimmer 'yond th'mountains rearing
like
         jagger's wild horses   ,

liquid spanish smiles in little bars all w/th'same signs.. words
words
words like birds ...

                                   (birds that take off
                                   in th'park in raucous flights
                                   if yer talkin' too loud.)

eat minute fried fish outside over 6 glasses strong beer.
almost fall off stool twice's'many times scrutinizing passing girls.

go home & write pomes 'bout cig'rettes & running,
call it "oxymoron" 'cause doing both in same day
is bad ******* news for the guts.

                                  go to the university campus
                                  for cheap coffee
                                  &        conversation
                                  w/a girl from the bar (the bartender)
            write a poem while she talks & call it
                                 "terra nova"

                                                         ­                      that one's about nothing.

jesus i hate
          christmas readings --

low intonings,
bursts of song,
prayers -- so many
       ******* prayers ...

all in name of th'
                          "wonder & mystery"
of christmas,
                         the birth of
                     quote-on-quote
                               holy babe.
                                                  nativity story spoken
       as
true   granite   fact
                                ,
heads all nodding..

Caesar Augustus, yes,
the census -- oh good!
                   ... some lady doing a
Mary monologue ...
                                   my own father playing Joseph!
          father!
(lumbering Boris Karloff father of Christ)

-- grandmother!!
quit jabbing my shoulder
                 as i        
put pen
to page!
              these hands
              are not
              the hands
of a devotion blinded
         christian!
(blasphemous thoughts do i write!) (poems on *******)

here is
a woman in white!
                                (angel?)
very performance art
with that lighting
                              but
i'm not convinced ...

.  
                
    /
advent candles on
the altar ......
when the last is lit will a
heavn'ly chorus
                            ring out?,
blue flame batonning round
the sanctuary? orderly little halos.

-- grandmother get your
uplifted hands out of my face!

am i doing my part by
                                        holding this candle
        & singing hymns? ...

       (my arm is being twisted) (i call this penance/comes once a year)

                                                            where is my eggnog & ***??
a friend / hiding behind some poinsettias (****** good idea)
supplies a fitting finish. garnish for my thoughts:

           "man ...
i want
            some
christmas h
                    anky-
    panky. "

(then:)

*"****.                            that
            doesn'
                        t
fit under a
                   tree..."