BURROUGHS, William S.
Cold Lost Marbles
my ice skates on a wall
lustre of stumps washes his lavander horizon
he’s got a handsome face of a lousy kid
rooming-houses dirty fingers
whistled in the shadow
“Wait for me at the detour.”
river… snow… some one vague faded in a mirror
filigree of trade winds
clouds white as lace circling the pepper trees
the film is finished
memory died when their photos weather-worn points of
polluted water under the trees in the mist shadow of
boys by the daybreak in the peony fields cold lost
marbles in the room carnations three ampoules of
morphine little blue-eyes-twilight grins between his
legs yellow fingers blue stars erect boys of sleep
have frozen dreams for I am a teenager pass it on
flesh and bones withheld too long yes sir oui oui
Crapps’ last map… lake… a canoe… rose tornado in
the harvest brass echo tropical jeers from Panama
City night fences dead fingers you are in your own body
around and maybe a boy skin spreads to something
else on Long Island the dogs are quiet.
Fear and the Monkey
Turgid itch and the perfume of death
On a whispering south wind
A smell of abyss and of nothingness
Dark Angel of the wanderers howls through the loft
With sick smelling sleep
Morning dream of a lost monkey
Born and muffled under old whimsies
With rose leaves in closed jars
Fear and the monkey
Sour taste of green fruit in the dawn
The air milky and spiced with the trade winds
White flesh was showing
His jeans were so old
Leg shadows by the sea
Morning light
On the sky light of a little shop
On the odor of cheap wine in the sailors' quarter
On the fountain sobbing in the police courtyards
On the statue of moldy stone
On the little boy whistling to stray dogs.
Wanderers cling to their fading home
A lost train whistle wan and muffled
In the loft night taste of water
Morning light on milky flesh
Turgid itch ghost hand
Sad as the death of monkeys
Thy father a falling star
Crystal bone into thin air
Night sky
Dispersal and emptiness.
Dead Whistle Stop Already End
Ahab to his companion falling over there in any out from the dawn
skin staring stirring unbelief he strode towards a long
drink and looked into the the actors ourselves become
muzzle of Spain and 42 St. old banner illustrating
I was standing by the wax before dead whistle stop already
cross the red moon terminal time scarred end.
scanning patterns on my face me in your back, pal"
dawn words falling will say it all consists in irradiating
this dead whistle stop in the language before creation
he strode towards the actors in the city "Here he is now"
obsidian morning sniffing quivering need masturbating afternoons
spitting blood dead rainbow flesh he moved as sharp as
on the iron streets fish smell and dead eyes water reeds
scarred metal faces running into the mines liquid typewriter
flickered on field where flesh circulates red fish talk falling
he strode towards pant smell language like muttering
Spain and 42 st. running in the gutter where is he now?
the actors dead dawn word falling he was caught in the zoo
whistle stop already scanning patterns jissom webs drifting
slow ferris wheel running rainbow flesh over the White Subway