Posts Tagged ‘Pennsylvania Poets’


In the heroine minute

There is no solace.

In the acid hour

There is only a handful

Of shrieking image.

In the sober day there is

Nothing to salvage,

Only an aching for

An infinite end,

But there is only a

Beginning in the

Marijuana mile.

From university to ruin,

From here to the

Ecstasy second,




Delay the smack thought.

In the moment of waiting,

Lean on a shadow,



Perceive the hunger action.

In the damning abyss,

Resent the auspice.


Contrive in silence.

Endure the corpse-field dawn.

Youth on Youth


Vestal virgins bleed themselves for

A transient snickering union,

With a tenuous wight of ephemeral distinction,

Dealer of temporal tumult and

Disfigured soulless mannequins,

Parading through shopping malls and boardwalks

In the negative of well lit summer afternoons.

The sober gentlemen weeps in the corners

Of his mind, trapped in the

Flaunting haze of marijuana nights,

Encased in the mindless drone of laughing anger:

Daisies, in the white fields,

Jutting gently like an answer from the texts,

Butting petals curiously in disagreement.

Outside the window, there they sway,

Here inside we do not play,

Amongst the gentiles of the books,

And ragged faceless infidels,

Among the crosses and the fanatics,

Here we feel the seaward swells

And hear the speaking that is words.

The black, upon the wall,

Sprawling out in blots,

Spotting out the scholar’s charts,

Darting like a rabbit in the void,

Consumed my vision.

In the addict, I see the addiction,

In the careless, that which they destroy,

And the wind upon the scholars back?

When the wind blows,

Did it blow?

It blew upon his back.

I saw little.  I saw nothing.

I cannot see.  I couldn’t see

The man’s face.

Did it begin?  Was it what it was?

For in my box I can listen but not act,

In silence one can not distinguish fact,

Nor pluck out the truth that wriggles across,

In the beak of the albatross,

Singing, singing without tact.