"It was the conquest of the night for doing something else than sleeping."

Smoke Gets in your Eyes/One for Y

I am the fourth star on the left if you go along the master's glance

(He is panicking at the access/attention to history grants me: eternity, glamorless but tempting because I remember how many starts were took in the gleam
and can repeat ... 1.often, 2.euphonic, 3.you funicular, 4.you from here? 5. These skinned woods, 6. you form her, 7. forked stars in the burnt down Dharma,
hurt her apart
from mastering her first, stark as a kid glass, jury reaching toward its preservation with indecision maybe we can stay forever: drinking thick juice, sunny delight or something even though it makes me stick to my stomach, scooting closer to the table, being young for you are old, far too, cargo of a stupor, bloated eyes and coal limber with use and down but mine too
obvious to count, to where it sounds like up, higher, a little more to the left You are

the forced guard of , if you look along my fastest glance, hallucinating your answer I heard the word trifling (flat) and watched it

lift

Not a Deer/Suite for Electric Light

Street Temple

Blank Contraband

(Inside the anatomony of Musics of Noble Entitlement/Invisible Planets on this Planet)

There is a run of sheer jade at the nape of a yellow wrist bulging like the dingy veins of mothers in taxis: crisp diamonds checkering the dense slur of the rings which herd them home--- arrogant and grotesque yearning as a form of comfort-- a warm day in my nerves --- the curve of their daze could drop a river powder light and dismissive puddles about no more, running out of thirds, His arms keep perfect ridges when you lift your eyes from them they land on a baseball cubic shimmering with field apathy and no gate, imagine the restless privacy of alters and stadiums or of the putrid silhouette of the ready-mades on slides in classrooms or in museums or on the sky looking like taxicab poodles or sugar cotton, incorruptible swaths of brand nodding in the teeth: minor and everywhere, are called trade, resources confiding in themselves door after door how the way out is one more, I promise, it opens onto green dolphin street with the calm promiscuity of buiks from the yard and, it gets to be ours

Spin-Out

Leaving Aside the Bloody Catalog



The most private, the most serious thing, because the past has disappeared


(while you were rooting

for Gary Cooper, that the "Indians" were you, wore your hue and labor



We'll get to the dream in a moment, in another way, this dis-expense is snapping


On a fast northern street, eastern-suddenly, the black girl in the gray slicker, shaped like a story-

I'm talking about her orbit- four years of shore collecting in her footsteps (the credibility of the garment is how it inflects the body
soft, appreciative, rescue wishes- I'm finally ready to be as everything as I've been

And the improbable mechanics of her owl, of her face full off hours, and how
it's almost now
A phantom

of her kind of answer to the hard gray pants or flickering dandyism of a runaway man, kind, like when Kerouac called us dusty (negros) from the hop of the least subtle train in the lobby of sluggish fugitives

He whistled and any drum built a masculine shoulder into the slopes of brief attention: tomorrow, tom-tom, slack, he took the blow back like tuxedo cloth magic of where you look, when

I'm talking about the wrist set out forlorn and perfect to where people are proud-living off the reflexes of beatnik rumors and then see her and then we are certain/
ballads,
brisk riddles of fellowship: it is said that he resisted and they beat him with sticks

also that the menace of it was how radiant looking she kept/looking-

Everyone becomes a glass-eyed pervert for the sure/glory of city rue rhythms is only hers,
sturdy rubber guardian of our yearning to be young and near, too young and near, our sense of curtsy, sempre, swarm, who is he, who sent him our record before liaison, and our madness

That's How It Got To America