Weak dreams
Dark corridors of PS 42
Roofs. Rat-throated pigeons
Oh time—be merciful
Throw me beneath your humanity of cars
Feed me to giant gray skyscrapers
Exhaust my heart to your bridges
I discard my harp, in futility
And that incredibly queer counterman who dished out the food
Threw it at you
1-2-3—slammed it
Had a languid frank expression—straight in your eyes
Like a 1930’s lunch cart heroine
And at the steam table itself, labored coolly
A junky looking Chinese with an actual stocking in his hair
As if they just shanghaied him off the foot of Commercial Street
Before the ferry building was up
Dreamed it was the 1860 gold rush
And on rainy days, you felt they had ships in the back room
I didn’t foresee what you felt
And were you prepared?
To go where?
Like an eye in a black cloud in a dream?
Where we kiss and hug America under bed sheets
Where there are 25,000 mad comrades
All together singing the final stanzas of the Internationale
On top of Cold Mountain, the lone moon
Lights the whole clear cloudless sky
We love this priceless treasure
Gaiser, Kerouac, Ginsberg and Snyder (paraphrased)
Weak dreams Dark corridors of PS 42 Roofs. Rat-throated pigeons Oh time—be merciful Throw me beneath your humanity of cars Feed me to giant gray skyscrapers Exhaust my heart to your bridges I discard my harp, in futility
And that incredibly queer counterman who dished out the food Threw it at you 1-2-3—slammed it Had a languid frank expression—straight in your eyes Like a 1930’s lunch cart heroine And at the steam table itself, labored coolly A junky looking Chinese with an actual stocking in his hair As if they just shanghaied him off the foot of Commercial Street Before the ferry building was up Dreamed it was the 1860 gold rush And on rainy days, you felt they had ships in the back room
I didn’t foresee what you felt And were you prepared? To go where? Like an eye in a black cloud in a dream? Where we kiss and hug America under bed sheets Where there are 25,000 mad comrades All together singing the final stanzas of the Internationale On top of Cold Mountain, the lone moon Lights the whole clear cloudless sky We love this priceless treasure
Gaiser, Kerouac, Ginsberg and Snyder (paraphrased)