The Geranium Hotel Poems

Slow distraction I need you Help me blow my mind Will I know when to stop this rocket? Stop singing this song? Will there be a lesson Taught to me from the gods? Will there be a myth? A great ode for me Written by the ancients On drum and stone! And I know the days are getting longer I know they are numbered I know I am wasting the only the thing I have But I can't explain And I will walk further Along the page I will go further than I have ever been before And think of all the regrets that I have Think of all the pride I should have Think of the shadow where it meets the ground And I guess I will fall Fall at the speed of thought Fall at the speed of snow Fall at the speed of the guitar strum Fall at the speed of Kerouac's Disease At The Speed OF KEROUAC'S DISEASE I never wanted this I was raised to have manners But I wont thank you for giving me this The sea smells rotten The buddhists are lazy The meat should be given to the oracle ...

Ginsberg. I am not afraid I am not afraid of your nineteen sixties television opinions I am not afraid of your twentieth century expansive heroic verse I am not afraid of your fan-mail underwear dance Your communist lover’s scissor cut Your Broom-stick-fuck publicity short story Your Lorca/Crane/Batman army reputation I am not afraid And I know I know all about Denver’s broken arm with bloody shirt I know all about your opinion of the reflection in glass I know the secret of the lion that did not eat you And I know your ego only meant sweet, sweet love And I know your beard was the soft cover for life and the universe in your arms And I know that your big fleshy 1997 man corpse was nought but a golden memory album that consisted of Corso’s days with sun on the axis of a needle, your own graveyard gifts and manic ego declarations, Orlovsky’s barefooted fecal snowflake poetry and William’s hard-boiled look and big old cock. I know of little Jean. He who pretended to be his ol...