some old journal entries
1. with intense vigor do i awake and begin the day. the dog pisses in white snow, as icecycles fall with melting sun, my feet are barefoot upon naked wood boards, and i have no coat yet i stay warm. my pen moves into shapes the language of man , even though they can read, many have yet to understand. the importance of sunlight and shadow, the eternal rendering of dream, cut off by
3-d sun screen. i think about the world fool, and hope dearly that’s not me, with one foot gayly off the cliff, but i’m afraid i’ve already slipped.
2. pieces of blue drawn slowly to red. float from the glass of water. and straight into my head. as the thought of my unmade bed drives me mad. things they come to me in frisco nights, the black man who just made a bet, stood in chinatown smoking his cigarette, neither of us expecting it was the eve of chinese new year, until the little men came from the alleys in the mid of night, and lit of the streets with dragon’s breathe. these things they just come in frisco nights.
a nice irish girl crosses market street in terrors, it is late, the streets empty except for her grief, our paths cross and we embrace, her grandmother …the streets flooded with her tears ..is dead in ireland, and she must return. these things they just come to me in frisco nights.
romance of fog and smells of all worlds, ghosts of sailors, and men on journeys, far navigations to distant parts of the mind, all of this you find, in the sweet frisco nights, poets who know it and ones not yet known, from every culture they have flown, and taken frisco as a nest. for they know far and wide her kisses are the best.
3. oh little boys i saw you from my window, on the city streets, with all the fight in your arms and your rage so dark … oh little boys i saw you from my hotel window, i above in room 44 , as one group gathered and the other marched in,
and how you faced off…did you know i was above crying, crying that they invited you into a world of fear, and the love you were denied, i see it in your eyes.
4. he said he swam in the same pool as marilyn monroe, and how much pleasure the thought of that as his body floated ….he paused and added, but i’m sure they’ve changed the water since then.
5. it is happening right now as we speak, the biting terror of the family scream, something else is bothering them, but they cant place what, and the pulled back rubber band releases into furious head butts, the sister is choking the brother as the baby is pulling their hair … the single mom is letting loose on the tender child’s bare, it is happening right now as we speak, the false religion has made everyone weak, and taught them that they are bad, and everyone’s taken all that they can, time to think about the raised hand, and what drove us mad.
6. you should have seen the squirrels at the home of president Hayes, where he and lemonade lucy are resting in their graves. the trees are strong and alive, on quiet nights, visitors hear a faint heart beat, a brick mansion and a buried horse, the gates are from washington and haunted of course ! the squirrel’s bellies are fat from corn and pieces of bread by human fingers torn. they have little fat faces, make you want to squeeze, those cute rascals crawling up them trees.
7. the black and white dog ran past my window through the ice cold snow. it is february my spirits are low. february always made me cry. never sure why. then i remembered further back to my youth, valentine’s day with a man who spoke no truth. he gave me dirty white lies all through the night, looked me straight in the eye, as i showered called home to his wife, the telephone bill doesnt lie …. the kids we talked about he already had, the man my heart held, was already a dad, not two , not three, but four times over… my valentine’s date was quite a romer. my spirits are low. february always made me cry. not sure why. until the black and white dog caught my eye. and took me back to his deceitful lies. february ran his love letters dry