In Praise of Rivers

stravinsky on vinyl FIREBIRD SUITE or mozart on laser DON GIOVANI -
id rather feel the grooves of arm and needle catch
fling out the frenzied maniacal-jackolantern-gallop-torpor-drawbridge-whale-tongue- ballerina-spin of napalm that is FIREBIRD!
the flinging of ashes into river that was my friend
who died under tube and weeze; last thoughts he didn't say -
just throw my dust over the ironrail where we saw the broke-winged goose. i wont tear my pants this time.
he poured bones & railroads from his eyes with a smile -
the nurse with white nylons came to unplug him.

there isnt anyone to govern this : the clouds, the trees, the mountains, the lakes, rivers, cricks, railroads, breath, sceptic-minds.
the hand responding to mind, loosely slipping black echoes
from blue cardboard jacket
so i can set me down here in white underwear
and think of death as a drive
on Saturday afternoons for rivers
to empty plastic tubs of ash & bone
for the fishes and old shoes where naked lovers
twine bodies around each other pressing ghost from ghost,
giving river its bones, while eyes become breath -
we arent taught HOW-TO-BREATHE just as we shouldn't be taught HOW-TO-SEE
for we appear as clouds to trees
and we are still loved by fetus and leaf -
why are we let off the hook at death but nailed to our actions in life -
the footprints i find at rivers when i sit in beard and flannel shirt are my own - who comes to join me has left -
so i lay in the dark grass/tilt my head this way/til the stars are caught
in queer angle/and i take to finding angels coital with shepherds and blue-Krishna ripping Jesus down off the Cross
where in the thorn-waif's wishbone drool bloodied pose
he left behind a poem that is no different than the poesy you think of now.

i lived in Lake Charles Louisiana with a pal few years ago -
applied for one of those dishwashing jobs in the town square: buncha bars, laundromats, electronic stores, diners and lampposts - lotsa lampposts - twelve parking spots and twenty seven lampposts - i counted 'em as we went along one night drunk with wine in a paper sac - no bottle - our buddy worked Rickenjacks bar and filled whole paper sacs with the stuff he would find in abandoned glasses or folks who took to talkin' rather than drinkin' - we hadda drink the shit fast - . so one afternoon me pickz out this Chinese diner - saki instead of coffee / potstickers indstead of apple pie / but the cook still cussed / and the waitress was his wife/ and together they went about runnin' the joint / with a stone Buddha on each table / bonsai trees instead of ashtrays. so i fill me out an APP. and went about my business goin' broke with sacs of liquor aint min.

got a call from that Chinese sit-down a few months ago asking if i could come in and be hired for dishwasher. had to explain i had moved north awhile back and it may take me awhile to get there - give me three days, i'll be there on thursday since now was monday afternoon and i'll drive straight thru halucination and tremor to get to yr white kiln-burned ceramic plates hardened with soy sauce and grey gum battered and balled up with deep tooth marks and scents of sweet & sour chicken, wonton, eggdrop, shrimp-chips all pastoral in skin.

she said they couldnt hold the job for me.

i'll stop for biscuits in Ripley.

but first........the infernal dance.......