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Paris Journal

So much forgetten already

So much forgotten

So much to forget



Once the idea of purity

born, all was lost

irrevocably



The Black Musician

in a house up the hill



Nigger in the woodpile

Skeleton in the closet



Sorry. Didn't mean you.



An old man, someone's

daughter



Arises

& sees us still in the room

of off-key piano & bad

paintings



him off to work

&new wife arriving



(The candle-forests of

Notre-Dame)



beggar nuns w/ moving

smiles, small velvet sacks

& cataleptic eyes



straying to the gaudy

Mosaic calendar

Windows



I write like this

to seize you



give me your love, your

tire eyes, sad for

delivery



A small & undiscover'd

park -- we ramble



And the posters scream

safe revolt



& the tired walls barely

fall, graffiti into

dry cement sand



an overfed vacuum

dust-clock



I remember freeways



Summer, beside you

Ocean -- brother



Storms passing



electric fires in the night



"rain, night, misery --

the back-ends of wagons"



Shake it! Wanda,

fat stranded swamp

Woman



We still need you



Shake your roly-poly

Thighs inside that

Southern tent



So what.



It was really wild

She started nude & put

on her clothes.



An old & cheap hotel

w/ bums in the lobby

genteel bums of satisfied

poverty



Across the street, a

famous pool-hall

where the actors meet



former ace -- home of

beat musicians

beat poets & beat

wanderers



in the Zen tradition

from China to the

Subway

in 4 easy lifetimes



Weeping, he left his pad

on orders from police

& furnishings hauled

away, all records &

momentos, & reporters

calculating tears &

curses for the press:



"I hope the Chinese junkies

get you"



& they will

for the poppy

rules the world



That handsome gentle

flower



Sweet Billy!



Do you remember

the snake

your lover



tender in the tumbled

brush-weed

sand & cactus



I do.



And I remember

Stars in the shotgun

night



eating pussy

til the mind runs

clean



Is it rolling, God



in the Persian Night?



"There's a palace

in the canyon

where you & I

were born



Now I'm a lonely Man

Let me back into

the Garden



Blue Shadows

of the Canyon

I met you

& now you're gone



& now my dream is gone

Let me back into your Garden



A man searching

for lost Paradise

Can seem a fool

to those who never

sought the other world



Where friends do lie & drift

Insanely in

Their own private gardens"



The cunt bloomed

& the paper walls

Trembled



A monster arrived

in the mirror

To mock the room

& its fool

alone



Give me songs

to sing

& emerald dreams

to dream



& I'll give you love

unfolding



Sun



underwater, it was

immediately strange

& familiar



the black boy's

from the boat, fins & mask,



Nostrils bled liquid

crystal blood

as they rose to surface



Rose & moved strong

in their wet world



Below was a Kingdom

Empire of still sand

& yes, party-colored

fishes

-- they are the last

to leave



The gay sea



I eat you

avoiding your wordy

bones



& spit out pearls



The little girl gave

little cries of surprise

as the club struck

her sides



I was there

By the fire in the

Phonebooth



I saw them charge

& heard the indian

war-scream



felt the adrenalin

of flight-fear



the exhilaration of terror

sloshed drunk in

the flashy battle blood



Naked we come

& bruised we go

nude pastry

for the slow soft worms

below



This is my poem

for you

Great flowing funky flower'd beast



Great perfumed wreck of hell



Great good disease

& summer plague



Great god-damned shit-ass

Mother-fucking freak



You lie, you cheat,

you steal, you kill



you drink the Southern

Madness swill

of greed



you die utterly & alone



Mud up to your braces

Someone new in your

knickers



& who would that be?



You know



You know more

than you let on



Much more than you betray



Great slimy angel-whore

you've been good to me



You really have



been swell to me



Tell them you came & saw

& look'd into my eyes

& saw the shadow

of the guard receding

Thoughts in time

& out of season

The Hitchhiker stood

by the side of the road

& levelled his thumb

in the calm calculus

of reason

Doors

Paris Journal / Doors

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