'Perspective betrays with its dichotomy:
train tracks always meet, not here, but only
    in the impossible mind's eye;
horizons beat a retreat as we embark
on sophist seas to overtake that mark
    where wave pretends to drench real sky.'

'Well then, if we agree, it is not odd
that one man's devil is another's god
    or that the solar spectrum is
a multitude of shaded grays; suspense
on the quicksands of ambivalence
    is our life's whole nemesis.

So we could rave on, darling, you and I,
until the stars tick out a lullaby
    about each cosmic pro and con;
nothing changes, for all the blazing of
our drastic jargon, but clock hands that move
    implacably from twelve to one.

We raise our arguments like sitting ducks
to knock them down with logic or with luck
    and contradict ourselves for fun;
the waitress holds our coats and we put on
the raw wind like a scarf; love is a faun
    who insists his playmates run.

Now you, my intellectual leprechaun,
would have me swallow the entire sun
    like an enormous oyster, down
the ocean in one gulp: you say a mark
of comet hara-kiri through the dark
    should inflame the sleeping town.

So kiss: the drunks upon the curb and dames
in dubious doorways forget their monday names,
    caper with candles in their heads;
the leaves applaud, and santa claus flies in
scattering candy from a zeppelin,
    playing his prodigal charades.

The moon leans down to took; the tilting fish
in the rare river wink and laugh; we lavish
    blessings right and left and cry
hello, and then hello again in deaf
churchyard ears until the starlit stiff
    graves all carol in reply.

Now kiss again: till our strict father leans
to call for curtain on our thousand scenes;
    brazen actors mock at him,
multiply pink harlequins and sing
in gay ventriloquy from wing to wing
    while footlights flare and houselights dim.

Tell now, we taunq where black or white begins
and separate the flutes from violins:
    the algebra of absolutes
explodes in a kaleidoscope of shapes
that jar, while each polemic jackanapes
    joins his enemies' recruits.

The paradox is that 'the play's the thing':
though prima donna pouts and critic stings,
    there burns throughout the line of words,
the cultivated act, a fierce brief fusion
which dreamers call real, and realists, illusion:
    an insight like the flight of birds:

Arrows that lacerate the sky, while knowing
the secret of their ecstasy's in going;
    some day, moving, one will drop,
and, dropping, die, to trace a wound that heals
only to reopen as flesh congeals:
    cycling phoenix never stops.

So we shall walk barefoot on walnut shells
of withered worlds, and stamp out puny hells
    and heavens till the spirits squeak
surrender: to build our bed as high as jack's
bold beanstalk; lie and love till sharp scythe hacks
    away our rationed days and weeks.

Then jet the blue tent topple, stars rain down,
and god or void appall us till we drown
    in our own tears: today we start
to pay the piper with each breath, yet love
knows not of death nor calculus above
    the simple sum of heart plus heart.

When I die
I don't care what happens to my body
throw ashes in the air, scatter 'em in East River
bury an urn in Elizabeth New Jersey, B'nai Israel Cemetery
But l want a big funeral
St. Patrick's Cathedral, St. Mark's Church, the largest synagogue in
        Manhattan
First, there's family, brother, nephews, spry aged Edith stepmother
        96, Aunt Honey from old Newark,
Doctor Joel, cousin Mindy, brother Gene one eyed one ear'd, sister-
        in-law blonde Connie, five nephews, stepbrothers & sisters
        their grandchildren,
companion Peter Orlovsky, caretakers Rosenthal & Hale, Bill Morgan--
Next, teacher Trungpa Vajracharya's ghost mind, Gelek Rinpoche,
        there Sakyong Mipham, Dalai Lama alert, chance visiting
        America, Satchitananda Swami
Shivananda, Dehorahava Baba, Karmapa XVI, Dudjom Rinpoche,
        Katagiri & Suzuki Roshi's phantoms
Baker, Whalen, Daido Loorie, Qwong, Frail White-haired Kapleau
        Roshis, Lama Tarchen --
Then, most important, lovers over half-century
Dozens, a hundred, more, older fellows bald & rich
young boys met naked recently in bed, crowds surprised to see each
        other, innumerable, intimate, exchanging memories
"He taught me to meditate, now I'm an old veteran of the thousand
        day retreat --"
"I played music on subway platforms, I'm straight but loved him he
        loved me"
"I felt more love from him at 19 than ever from anyone"
"We'd lie under covers gossip, read my poetry, hug & kiss belly to belly
        arms round each other"
"I'd always get into his bed with underwear on & by morning my
        skivvies would be on the floor"
"Japanese, always wanted take it up my *** with a master"
"We'd talk all night about Kerouac & Cassady sit Buddhalike then
        sleep in his captain's bed."
"He seemed to need so much affection, a shame not to make him happy"
"I was lonely never in bed **** with anyone before, he was so gentle my
        stomach
shuddered when he traced his finger along my abdomen ****** to hips-- "
"All I did was lay back eyes closed, he'd bring me to come with mouth
        & fingers along my waist"
"He gave great head"
So there be gossip from loves of 1948, ghost of Neal Cassady commin-
        gling with flesh and youthful blood of 1997
and surprise -- "You too? But I thought you were straight!"
"I am but Ginsberg an exception, for some reason he pleased me."
"I forgot whether I was straight gay queer or funny, was myself, tender
        and affectionate to be kissed on the top of my head,
my forehead throat heart & solar plexus, mid-belly. on my *****,
        tickled with his tongue my behind"
"I loved the way he'd recite 'But at my back allways hear/ time's winged
        chariot hurrying near,' heads together, eye to eye, on a
        pillow --"
Among lovers one handsome youth straggling the rear
"I studied his poetry class, 17 year-old kid, ran some errands to his
        walk-up flat,
seduced me didn't want to, made me come, went home, never saw him
        again never wanted to... "
"He couldn't get it up but loved me," "A clean old man." "He made
        sure I came first"
This the crowd most surprised proud at ceremonial place of honor--
Then poets & musicians -- college boys' grunge bands -- age-old rock
        star Beatles, faithful guitar accompanists, gay classical con-
        ductors, unknown high Jazz music composers, funky trum-
        peters, bowed bass & french horn black geniuses, folksinger
        fiddlers with dobro tamborine harmonica mandolin auto-
        harp pennywhistles & kazoos
Next, artist Italian romantic realists schooled in mystic 60's India,
        Late fauve Tuscan painter-poets, Classic draftsman *****-
        chusets surreal jackanapes with continental wives, poverty
        sketchbook gesso oil watercolor masters from American
        provinces
Then highschool teachers, lonely Irish librarians, delicate biblio-
        philes, *** liberation troops nay armies, ladies of either ***
"I met him dozens of times he never remembered my name I loved
        him anyway, true artist"
"Nervous breakdown after menopause, his poetry humor saved me
        from suicide hospitals"
"Charmant, genius with modest manners, washed sink, dishes my
        studio guest a week in Budapest"
Thousands of readers, "Howl changed my life in Libertyville Illinois"
"I saw him read Montclair State Teachers College decided be a poet-- "
"He turned me on, I started with garage rock sang my songs in Kansas
        City"
"Kaddish made me weep for myself & father alive in Nevada City"
"Father Death comforted me when my sister died Boston l982"
"I read what he said in a newsmagazine, blew my mind, realized
        others like me out there"
Deaf & Dumb bards with hand signing quick brilliant gestures
Then Journalists, editors's secretaries, agents, portraitists & photo-
        graphy aficionados, rock critics, cultured laborors, cultural
        historians come to witness the historic funeral
Super-fans, poetasters, aging Beatnicks & Deadheads, autograph-
        hunters, distinguished paparazzi, intelligent gawkers
Everyone knew they were part of 'History" except the deceased
who never knew exactly what was happening even when I was alive

                                                February 22, 1997

Persia,
The land of God,
Where God stayed in person,
As he traversed desert sand dunes to Irag,
To have a look at rivers Euphrates and Tigris,
When Adam had just finished playing the first human ***,
With Eve, the non ****** companion he gave him,
He then meted out to them eternal nemesis
Out of his anger and selfish jealous,
Other-wise what was wrong,
For Adam to have a ****,
With the unclothed eve,
Any answer please,
Or no please,
Persia,

Persia Now is Nuked,
A nuclearized oil exporter,
She has a Koran, oil-wells and Nuclear,
She also has no-nonsense masculine Arabic culture,
****** grounds in which mushrooms the messy Islamic soup,
Blessed and Glorified by my good ****** brother; Barrack Obama,
Who was once God and sent the inverse of angel Michael to Laden Osama,
To impregnant the ****** mother of death that sired laden’s demise,
Game in which Obama dwarfs Netanyahu a global dweeb,
Left on a wrong inglenook in a dwaal at Jerusalem fire,
Biasly blessing the Israeli Nuclear and Hydrogen bombs,
As security of the world, and condemning Iran,
Calling their Kosher Nuclears a threat,
To the israelized world security,
But his Gaza **** is not,
His refuge camps
Are not

Blessed are the Nuclear stuffs of Persia,
They are blessings of Allah to those that are guided,
Maunderings of the jackanapes like Netanyahu is not news,
For he has more nuclear in Jerusalem, hydrogen bombs too he has,
Then arming Persia must a usual game of violence not anything of his sort,
For  they are Koran, the nuclear, the oil wells, and the woman,
That will frame up the Islamic state to stable counterzionism,
To stave mania of European Jews for settlerism
To eat what they deserve un¬¬-rapaciously,
To at least breed homespun respect,
For those that differ with them
In faith and skin
Like afro-persians


Persia,
Your nuclear stuffs,
Are blessed and glorified,
For they are counter-apartheid,
To the Zionist apartheid in Palestine,
They are acts that resemble the acts in the past,
By those that oppressed, colonize, imperialize for settlerism,
For a line in Shakespeare’s king Lear has some blessings for you;
The un-armed (Arabs) provokes (Israeli) enemy’s attack,
Thus reality of equal nuclear mighty and strength
Will nurse thought for de-imperialism
Sense of respect and discipline,
By those who belong to God,
To those who don’t,

Who Bombed Charlie Hebdo?
And what of the Yankee Twin Towers?
Was it Al Qaeda or the Israelis, can I blab or not?
O, there were also Nuclear stuffs in De Klerk’s White South Africa,
But when blackness came to corridors of power, the nukes followed color,
What of what I was dreaming yester night? About Netanyahu,
He ployed for the European hatred against Islamic statesmen,
He bombed Charlie Hebdo, masquerading as an Arab,
For European war on Islamic state to intensify,
Then it intensified, but God only knew,
The truth; Islamic statesman are only mouthy,
But foolish in war and offense,
They didn’t bomb
Charlie Hebdo,

Boris Nemetsov,
A Russian speaking Jew,
Was shot dead in Moscow,
(RIP) Boris, for the human soul must die,
Death and grave is the kismet for us the living,
But why were you weak as a post hatch cackling hen,
To make noise and preen around as a jade in the land of fox,
The African sisal fox that ate all the Crimean chicken,
Noise of a hen cannot fetter fox’s appetite,
Noise of a hen cannot shake culture,
Of Nuclear power in Iran and Korea N,
Why live in Russia, but you love Israeli?
I don’t need the answer dudes,
But always oppression
the oppressor always
it kills,

Alexander  Khamala Opicho
Lodwar ,  Kenya

It's September; cold in the copses,
Feverish in the kitchen.
The sink clinks and exorcises
The china like an Italian sonata.
My lips merge into ether
At the sky, a periwinkle parallax
With the pork lard carbon monoxide
Clouds, at drive with suicide.  
My Buddha hisses at the window,
Ripping the tentacles off weedy carrots.

The knives are clever & precise
Hiding in their handled shoals
Like luminescent Jackanapes
Out for the thrill of the ****;
The **** of the stake of steak,
A 'Cow'ardly act.
I wrap the red & dead
Into a Beef Wellington.
It is not pretty at all;
But neither am I.

I'll drink tea to keep my peace,
Swallow my spirituality like a pain killer.
The teabag sags its straggled string,
Scolding me.
The pillbox is dead on the edge
Of the ornamented kitchen sill
A lot like me; sullen and teasing.
I wanted to roast my head like a potato
If the pudding *** over boiled,
A cauldron of sugar and cream
Fattening me ugly and crazy.


The weather is miserable; I mustn't lie,
It's enough to make any young woman want to die.
Stirring my thoughts with the dishes,
Trashing potato peels like my wishes.
And the stacks and stacks of ****-me pills
Surround like troops in their barricade cupboards.
I have no allies,
Everyone is asleep;
I curl up like a fat snail and weep
Blackening the words of the miracle-working Priest.

My brother was twelve years older so
I knew him not so well,
But heard of him in the taverns,
Getting drunk, and raising hell,
My mother said, ‘Keep away from him,’
And I did, for many years,
But blood is blood, and a brother should
Help out, though it ends in tears.

He’d done a spot of embezzling,
He’d picked the pockets of Earls,
You never left him to tend a horse
And he wasn’t safe with girls,
But he was my brother Toby,
And I was his brother Tim,
I’d often find him beneath my bed
When he said, ‘Don’t let them in!’

By ‘them’ he had meant the Runners
Who were active in the Bow,
And some of the old Thief-Takers
With their ruffians in tow,
They roamed the streets with their cudgels
And would lie, just out of sight,
Beyond the doors of the Taverns, when
They turned them adrift at night.

The streets were mean, and were far from clean
Where my brother used to roam,
Despite the pleas of our mother, who
Would beg him to come back home,
But father remained unbending, said
His eldest son was a swine,
‘His endless scrapes, a Jackanapes!
He is no son of mine!’

I heard he’d taken a horse and fled
From a stables in the Strand,
‘There’s little that anyone now can do,
When they catch him, he’ll be hanged!’
My mother, crying a flood of tears
As my father cursed and swore,
‘I’ll call the Runners, or I’ll be ******
If you let him through my door!’

So Toby galloped to Hounslow Heath
Along the Great West Road,
Teamed up with the brute Tom Wilmot,
Lay low in his abode,
They’d venture out on a moonlit night
To wait for the latest Stage,
But Tom was never the gentleman,
Or known to contain his rage.

They stopped the coach on a lonely night
‘Your money or your life!’
Dragged out a country gentleman,
His maid, and his homely wife,
He wanted the ring on the lady’s hand
But her finger held it tight,
So he sawed the finger off as well
With a sharp, serrated knife.

‘It was terrible,’ Toby told me
As they loaded him onto the cart,
‘The screams and the blood, unholy,’
As the horse was about to depart,
They hung him high on the Tyburn Tree
Next to the Wilmot pig,
Not undeserved, but I cried and cursed
As he danced the Tyburn jig.

David Lewis Paget

I'm going walkabout
It's time to get away to the outback.
I've been here for years.
It feels like I'm seeping into the seams
of the stitching of yesterday's dreams
And I've got to go.

No one will notice,no one will know
If I don't turn up for the show they'll just think that I passed.
My turn has come to get on the road and to run as fast as I can.
You can't catch this man he's to quick.
Tied to the past though I maybe
I am no baby when it comes to a race
I set the pace
And I'm off.

Walkabout
Talk about a jape
This jackanapes is making his track
And he ain't looking back.
I am gone as soon as the sun makes a face
In the morning this place will be history.
That's me.
Gone in a flash.
Now I must dash off and pack my walkabout sack
With a brolly and boots,two suits and a pair of old jeans.
That seems about right.
This time tomorrow night
I'll be far away.

Leslie Howard
as the Scarlet Pimpernel
is a pure joy
to watch,
all big-collared foppish
tight-trousered dandy
& dainty eyeglass
peering,

& there’s scheming
from the glum & slightly
hunch-backed Robespierre,
weeping aristocrats,
in tumbrils,
& innocent playing
children,

oh so-tailored families
all huge-coiffured hair,
cravats & handkerchiefs
& cocky young jackanapes
playing chess,

the cheering crowds
all coarse & ugly,
with knitting bonneted-crones
anticipating as the drums roll,
& the blade falls,
to a mighty
cheer,

we can see
our own bewitching
Marie Antoinette,
our own sly & whispering
Rasputin,
our gold-folly Sun King,

but I cannot say
I want Madame
La Guillotine
to be set up,
in the square
this time,
no …
no that,

but a victorious
cheering mob,
does sometimes
haunt my dreams,
I confess
to say.

“I send them to the guillotine for the future happiness of the human race, but I do not allow torture.”

Robespierre

Galloping glum on desecrated pourparlers of gravid gravity sawed  in half by limped levity
That awestruck moonshot apartheid Count Dracula nyala blood thirst finicky in mafficking celebrity
Dawdling on the moors of transcendentalism a scarlet hue surdomute poisons a stilted amphigory View Askew
Repartees for four scores seven games profaned starlet girdles of regaled tails on coin flipped casualties a shibboleth for reneged Jews
Crosswalk henpecking ironhanded regimes flickering blockbusters a bend diseased etch-a-sketch orchestras brook degrees of foibles of mistral breeze
Tempestuous haunts of profound savants sidling gallantly between the venom and the squeeze to postulate a notion of time to which time itself agrees
As the quizzical stampede traipses with the apish notions of Cape Cod capers lapsed by bonfires started by the Minneapolis Lakers the ground shakes groovy with primordial Quakers
Retinues of Amish famished slaking jaundice slipshod with guffaws awash rakish with Point Break's henchmens heyday shading shadier acres
Times contumely a backbitten loan shark the esquire of a tomb desolate with spray can doom segued into sparkplug rooms spiraling into vertigo for varsal probability of crackjaw croon warbling loony and always too soon
The honesty of revelry sagging under encumbered dawdles a Bain Capital poltroon slaloms around iceblinks of every FANGed tune
lopsided in baragnosis whitewashed by hypnosis watching the wretched dial blemished by heliosis such that the jejune tautology becomes precocious
As a matter of fact besieged by a Massive Attack the spavined of the slugabed slore of whack-a-mole tact develops retrograde cirrhosis
Bleeding from contumacy widowed by the stulm of stannary lunacy we skelder for shelter as wilted whangams jostle in welter
Clockwork genocide hapless by pavonine notions of ivory towers in division about divisible divide multiplied by iracund notions of skeletal sweat in Canada dry swelter
As the bygones of stanhope meet the tympany of stanzas churches gilded with hypaethral avarice are riveted by Potemkin bonanzas
Wooded woonerf jackanapes blesboks warbling on corrugated provenance postulating allodic vultures outnumbering famished bamboozled pandas
In search of pillory never alpenglow we embroider a seed sown out of love a semaphore of walnut-brained eyesore
A dizzy vertiginous dance of Gavin Rossdale mainlining bellarmine barkentine vicissitude rather than happenstance using jawholes immiserated Six Pence All the Poorer
The macular degeneration of kenspeckel sensibility wilting on the laxism of pulverized verve of racecar swerve might the doggy crapulence survive the days of desiccated herb in a time that teetotalers "Shout" the word
That in every zoo the monkey business of the flock is cretaceous enough to rock the chockablock crotaline specter of the Raging Bull in an enthusiastic herd
All is a pittance to renewal in the revalorization of nimiety in a time of the tyranny of nihilism itself absurd

We purchased 2020 Hyundai Elantra
at Enterprise Car Rental
1207 West Ridge Pike
Conshohocken, Pennsylvania 19428
April thirteenth two thousand twenty three
witnessed greatest amount of money
I spent at one time.

The following day April 14th, 2023
(after my automotive troubles
seemed so far away),
when important business concluded at:
Pennsylvania Department of Transportation -
Photo License Center,
1700 Markley Street,
Norristown, Pennsylvania 19401.

Before somnolent vestige
completely vanished, and vanquished
post retentive grogginess dissipated
ipso facto after awakening
from dream state come true
and opening eyelids
Delilah gifted with melanin
swiftly tailored uber vestil ******
hit with hair brained scheme
to generate goldenlocks

worth gobs of green
freshly minted legal tender
despite fallout being upbraided
bald brazenness occurred
to emasculate Johnny comb lately
he experienced brush with immortality
until he almost got scalped
saved by skin of his teeth
unbeknownst to lass (see) how keen

her intended prey nicknamed Samson
worthwhile fitness expense
disciplined, coaxed, and buffed physique
to chisel, mold sculpt, et cetera
his body to become lean
said kingly chess mate pledged troth
to ebony queen,
she wedded near likeness of the boss
(doppelganger) Bruce Springsteen.

Additionally while slumbering,
I experienced close encounters
of the third kind
manifested as following visitation
linkedin and included chance encounter
with a rock-ribbed mountain of a man
(whose shaved noggin glistened)
simply known as thee ebullient B.T.,
one strapping muscular dynamic
colorful preacher

of health and positive welfare,
who strongly encouraged me
(combination aging long haired
pencil necked geek, harried styled
white tarnished knight,
teenage mutant ninja turtle,
and wunderkind wily wordsmith)
to pay him a visit
at the following LA Fitness site
2961 Swede Road,
East Norriton, Pennsylvania 19401.

Aforementioned stranger in a strange land
athletic built endowed fellow
with smooth glistening ebony skin
talked (courtesy booming inspirational voice)
an evangelical blue streak regarding
the merits of communication
heavily peppered with brotherly/sisterly love
with powerful salted spiritual undertones.

Impossible mission during wakeful state
to recreate, rehabilitate, rejuvenate,
rekindle, and resuscitate a likeness
courtesy figment of my imagination
said boisterous, gregarious, illustrious,
and rambunctious well sculpted
specimen of **** sapiens
as hinted at above.

Though no Hercules
(in fact just the antonym),
mine alter ego exaggerated,
intimated, and outlined,
a mollified Genie could blithely wave
magic wand abracadabra
spellbinding mine fate, aye
would rejoice beholding,
an African Queen to quash
celibacy, cuz declaration of consummation

stemming premature *******
more precious then
fine spun gold (for Josephine) to buy
time against tortured Golgotha kepi
mein kampf wracking fate, thence pave
ving a stairway to heaven
after this ivory pawn doth die
cleansing, exorcising, and flushing
infidelity kindling lover,
which prurient waywardness

found me to misbehave
ah bon Jove vee errant fellow
(wanted dead or alive),  
I das scribe many blue moons ago,
when verboten fruit
yours truly didst deaf fie
temptation no amount
renouncing, repenting, rerouting
travesty, mockery, and effrontery
regarding egregious transgression
excising emotional affliction

spent kneeling on wounded knee,
this besotted knave
scrutinizing indelible engravure
etched with blessed
"Jesus, bare naked Amazon Mary
and Joseph" motif guy
interweaved by pointed
finger of Goddess Sheba almighty
beckoned deft fiat halting joist
lowered nondescript plain rigid casket

swallowed by grave
temporally ushered whirled wide
webbed rebirth where I
received life anew breathless composure
dousing errant fellow
guilt honestly iterated, jackanapes
kneaded licentious maligned narcissistic
opprobrious philandering questing re: deprave
transgressions, whereat
this gentile Jew did lie
unclothed satisfying prurient flava flave

vitiating marital covenant, now my
soul asylum anointed,
via misdirected, misguided, and misjudged
sedulous, poisonous, opprobrious,
nevertheless glorious, and fabulous
Nubian enchantress deign nigh
ying celibacy decreeing
expurgating ****** crave
ving, hence thy status as Zen eternal
****** (corny punster) mocker

as acceptable punishment bequeathed
by said deliquescent, iridescent,
and opalescent dreamt up
"FAKE" pitch black
kickstarting Negroid hallucination
from over active imagination
me didst truly ply
avariciousness as Holden Caulfield
protagonist catcher in the rye.

three cycles tick by; a sine wave drawn
to ebb the seas and flow night to morn
such airy business; etched in deep
rocks hollowed out for humble rooms
for stoicism borne in mother's womb
elects to dream in undue sleep

sardonic skies mock me hence
while hurricanes teach ambivalence
for they fly free, regardless of
windfalls prior and waves untamed;
taking homes and with them, names
of those sure to be stripped of cloth

the me of now would not stand
for punch-drunk persecution; reprimand
that sardonic sky: how dare you jeer!
with no heart in there but nimbus clouds
does apathy make your sad gods proud?
does envy fill their cups with cheer?

send me to the jackanapes!
let them tend their wounds; take shape
a splint - bind pity to the dogged folks
pray their heaven ne'er comes undone
for coal-donned crows balk rain over sun:
choose to ember in ash over smoke