I'd have to beg you wildly to forgive me
For barging in like this with such poor aim,
Dreaming I could imitate your bull's eye,
Going without permission to your room
(It's true, Emily, I've already been there)
And publishing books of poems in my lifetime
Without even having met your friend, the air,
Not to mention daring to write down your name
And pretending, for an instant, you might hear.
Stephen Yenser
Kerouacky
I want my Partotooty
Sweetie backpie back
- Mexico City Blues
Oh, where are those lovely early smogs,
Those sheer, cherry smazes of 1959
That jazzed up the evening sun
Before it went out for the orgasmic night
In crazy organzas of blushes and jacaranda blues.
In the old days, the bold, the bop days on the beach,
In the starry daze of those fried nights, those satyr days,
Skinny-dipping, cocky, nippled in the bud,
Hip and slaphappy, dripping moon and copping feels ,
We promised that we'd leave no tern unstoned.
Riffs, we wanted, rough drafts,
the gist
cif
poesy,
the jism,
Just drift and spin - and lowest tides got high with us,
Before we roach-clipped the kick ticks and, bushwhacked,
lipstuck,
Hellbent, slabhappy now, laid some rubber, split
To crash, and to record some slipsticked Zs.
