it feels like an iceberg has hit my heart
and I am still sinking
drowning slowly
without you
please be a bad dream
that I can wake up from

*please

Cool black night thru redwoods
cars parked outside in shade
behind the gate, stars dim above
the ravine, a fire burning by the side
porch and a few tired souls hunched over
in black leather jackets.  In the huge
wooden house, a yellow chandelier
at 3 A.M. the blast of loudspeakers
hi-fi Rolling Stones Ray Charles Beatles
Jumping Joe Jackson and twenty youths
dancing to the vibration thru the floor,
a little **** in the bathroom, girls in scarlet
tights, one muscular smooth skinned man
sweating dancing for hours, beer cans
bent littering the yard, a hanged man
sculpture dangling from a high creek branch,
children sleeping softly in their bedroom bunks.
And 4 police cars parked outside the painted
gate, red lights revolving in the leaves.

                                        December 1965

I am writing these poems
From inside a lion,
And it's rather dark in here.
So please excuse the handwriting
Which may not be too clear.
But this afternoon by the lion's cage
I'm afraid I got too near.
And I'm writing these lines
From inside a lion,
And it's rather dark in here.

Wine comes in at the mouth
And love comes in at the eye;
That's all we shall know for truth
Before we grow old and die.
I lift the glass to my mouth,
I look at you, and I sigh.

i like my body when it is with your
body. It is so quite new a thing.
Muscles better and nerves more.
i like your body.  i like what it does,
i like its hows.  i like to feel the spine
of your body and its bones,and the trembling
-firm-smooth ness and which i will
again and again and again
kiss, i like kissing this and that of you,
i like, slowly stroking the,shocking fuzz
of your electric furr,and what-is-it comes
over parting flesh….And eyes big love-crumbs,

and possibly i like the thrill

of under me you so quite new

He will

Kiss me hard
Touch me where I am scarred
Throw me out
Scream; shout
Remind me I am worthless
Make me wordless
Use
Abuse

But he will

Love me softly
Come home promptly
Take me out
Ask what I am all about
Remind me that he needs me
Compare me to a beautiful sea
Find me when I am afraid
Give me aide

And he will

*Always cry himself to sleep

Once, in an orchard, two great men, Prose and Poetry, were walking at twilight, and the golden light of the day was shimmering through sieve of leaves. Both were pacing at the same speed. They came across a wounded bird, fluttering on the pavement. Poetry stopped to see it, but Prose elided this and moved on. Poetry, taken aback, called out him and said:

Poetry:  Please unfold your identity!
Prose:   An intellectual man, very sharp at wit!
Poetry:  Add more!
Prose:   A social reformer and moralist!
Poetry:  So true! But it is only me that weeps for man, bird and beast.

Poetry picked up the bird and brought home for its treatment, and Prose continued his exercise!