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• Classic-Fiction

there was a long board

about 2½ feet wide and

8 feet long;

nailed to the ends and in the middle

were roller skates.

he was pulling in front

two long ropes attached to the board

and she was in back

guiding and also pushing.

all their possessions were tied to the

board:

pots, pans, bedquilts, and so forth

were roped to the board

tied down;

and the skatewheels were grinding.

he was white, red-necked, a

southerner—

thin, slumped, his pants about to

fall from his

ass—

his face pinked by the sun and

cheap wine,

and she was black

and walked upright

pushing;

she was simply beautiful

in turban

long green ear rings

yellow dress

from

neck to

ankle.

her face was gloriously

indifferent.

“don’t worry!” he shouted, looking back

at her, “somebody will

rent us a place!”

she didn’t answer.

then they were gone

although I still heard the

skatewheels.

they’re going to make it,

I thought.

I’m sure they

did.

in a neighborhood of murder

the roaches spit out

paperclips

and the helicopter circles and circles

smelling for blood

searchlights leering down into our

bedroom

5 guys in this court have pistols

another a

machete

we are all murderers and

alcoholics

but there are worse in the hotel

across the street

they sit in the green and white doorway

banal and depraved

waiting to be institutionalized

here we each have a small green plant

in the window

and when we fight with our women at 3 a.m.

we speak

softly

and on each porch

is a small dish of food

always eaten by morning

we presume

by the

cats.

private first class

they took my man off the street

the other day

he wore an L.A. Rams sweatshirt with

the sleeves cut

off

and under that

an army shirt

private first class

and he wore a green beret

walked very straight

he was black in brown walking shorts

hair dyed blonde

he never bothered anybody

he stole a few babies

and ran off cackling

but he always returned the infants

unharmed

he slept in the back of the

Love Parlor

the girls let him.

compassion is found in

strange places.

one day I didn’t see him

then another.

I asked around.

my taxes are going to go up

again. the state’s got to

house and feed

him. the cops took him

in. no

good.

love is a dog from hell

feet of cheese

coffeepot soul

hands that hate poolsticks

eyes like paperclips

I prefer red wine

I am bored on airliners

I am docile during earthquakes

I am sleepy at funerals

I puke at parades

and am sacrificial at chess

and cunt and caring

I smell urine in churches

I can no longer read

I can no longer sleep

eyes like paperclips

my green eyes

I prefer white wine

my box of rubbers is getting

stale

I take them out

Trojan-Enz

lubricated

for greater sensitivity

I take them out

and put three of them on

the walls of my bedroom are blue

Linda where did you go?

Katherine where did you go?

(and Nina went to England)

I have toenail clippers

and Windex glass cleaner

green eyes

blue bedroom

bright machinegun sun

this whole thing is like a seal

caught on oily rocks

and circled by the Long Beach Marching Band

at 3:36 p.m.

there is a ticking behind me

but no clock

I feel something crawling along

the left side of my nose:

memories of airliners

my mother had false teeth

my father had false teeth

and every Saturday of their lives

they took up all the rugs in their house

waxed the hardwood floors

and covered them with rugs again

and Nina is in England

and Irene is on ATD

and I take my green eyes

and lay down in my blue bedroom.

my groupie

I read last Saturday in the

redwoods outside of Santa Cruz

and I was about 3/4’s finished

when I heard a long high scream

and a quite attractive

young girl came running toward me

long gown & divine eyes of fire

and she leaped up on the stage

and screamed: “I WANT YOU!

I WANT YOU! TAKE ME! TAKE

ME!”

I told her, “look, get the hell

away from me.”

but she kept tearing at my

clothing and throwing herself

at me.

“where were you,” I

asked her, “when I was living

on one candy bar