by Philip Lamantia
O beato solitudo! where have I flown to?
stars overturn the wall of my music
as flight of birds, they go by, the spirits
opened below the lark of plenty
ovens of neant overflow the docks at Veracruz
This much is time
summer coils the soft suck of night
lone unseen eagles crash thru mud
I am worn like an old sack by the celestial bum
I'm dropping my eyes where all the trees turn on fire!
I'm mad to go to you, Solitude - who will carry me there?
I'm wedged in this collision of planets/Tough!
I'm the trumpet of King David
the sinister elevator tore itself limb by limb
You can not close
you can not open
you break yr head
you make bloody bread!