There are dangers of hell
             keep waiting
                   till they are felt

There are dangers of hell

You can forget anything
             never forget it all

A few blooms in Bohemia
for your hair do a duty
and make their red heavier
to fit the brown of your beauty.

But how many gallows
morals have built along the trees!
Joyful sin, tell me, in their shadow,
are flowers allowed to please?

The burdock and nettles
are growing as every year
and so people of Protectus settle
with their tracts everyone's ear.

Praying is just a waste
as it was at the time I was born.
The blooming aloe is my taste
of your black hair adorned.

Life stories of other people
are more important than
life story of ours

Life stories of other people
are easier to tell than
life story of ours
which we are unable to say anything about
and so we are unable to say anything about
our life story

The valves
are opening in our hearts

The valves
are opening in our hearts

Please
try to comprehend this part

Many people act
like if they had not been born yet. But at that time
William Burroughs was asked by a student
whether he believed in an afterlife
and answered
"And how do you know you haven't died yet?"

Where do the wrecks of our children lie????????????????????????????????
Lukewarm as a silent draught in saturated heads
Yellowed in smoothness
                      of apples with silk so ancient and in vermouth
                                                        ­                                          so cheap
                                         mixed with the chlorine water of the city
where do the wrecks of our children lie
                                   lukewarm
                                                      & yellowy
                                                         ­               & tremulous
just like an archangel's gesture
which we use for forcing them to leave us
for ages or for never

Yes, our expelled white and green and yellow cry
thirstily yells in the desert of bedsheets
and with the skin in a sweat up to our neck
we struggle for that smell in the air with beginning
of decay
which belongs to our
doubled loneliness

Water is reeked with nicotine
The souls are reeked with Ginsberg
but the heads and the thoughts have both pungent smell like
hot rooster comb flowers
I slept last time the day before yesterday
I saw the ****** Mary so beautiful
in that glow of blue & gold
                                           neons of Bethlehem
thumbing a lift near a cadillac with CD plate
& the jazz was caroling in wet sand
there were twelve bars in the honour of that boy
who has to come here one day finally, ****
he has to come just for jamming in this world
as it's said he could /!/ get all that mess of ours
off ourselves gentlemanly playing the part.

Dark flows down to the street's pools
The blotting paper of sky in grey
has imprints of cyclamen roses
Right there on the street they are lynching
with a welding torch the rests
of this night I have spent with a walk
to assure myself that I live still
Maybe this is the morning
that will give an amnesty
to all the time barred loves