I am rich
I’ve used my blood
like an extravagance
An archetype of oralcry
whose silence
smells of cheap wine
A poetman
become an olding messenger boy
O silver tongue of spiritus!
I whoop it up
in all my wealth
like Great Mercurio
twirling his white ribboned caduceus
in heavened air
Bathed & gowned
by the Pifs of Prophecy
Asoak in a tub of soft flashes
I step into talaria
And into my hand
the twined winged wand was wound
I sat on the toilet of an old forgotten god
and divined a message thereon
I bring it to you
in cupped hands
Mar 21, 2014
Mar 21, 2014 at 2:53 AM UTC
I am rich
I’ve used my blood
like an extravagance
An archetype of oralcry
whose silence
smells of cheap wine
A poetman
become an olding messenger boy
O silver tongue of spiritus!
I whoop it up
in all my wealth
like Great Mercurio
twirling his white ribboned caduceus
in heavened air
Bathed & gowned
by the Pifs of Prophecy
Asoak in a tub of soft flashes
I step into talaria
And into my hand
the twined winged wand was wound
I sat on the toilet of an old forgotten god
and divined a message thereon
I bring it to you
in cupped hands
poet:
http://en.wikipedia.org/wiki/Gregory_Corso
collection:
http://ndbooks.com/book/herald-of-the-autochthonic-spirit
user does not claim this as his own work.
-FT
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