.Vunknown, man mysterious,
'omise of an earthbound night-e
name. enormities unvanquished,
.1 woulderap them in greens, ﬂowers,
ahdlay them to melt, like snowﬂakes,
before the dazing heat, your life.

harlequin of_dreem and color,

I, alone, with others need you,
pass'the radiance of you, untouched.
I, alone, dance; my mind, my eyes,
and every word that I might say
become forms, undulating shape.

dreams are strong, colors stronger,
harlequins boths, promises most.
ignorant of gifts, dancing fails;
yet you could, yes, move me mountains,
like a patchwork god, beautiful,
holding one single thndelion.

- Sherry Mayrent

Preface
Morning dissonances, walled and worn by walking beasts;
Faults in the cloud-surface, steel lips on the horizon:
The forces of a new course of events. The planners please
Themselves with thoughts of waking wizards dying.

The melodies of morning stutter past; the world is shorn
Of edges, while horizons melt into foaming puddles.

The planners pout as wilting nets descend; the newborn
Wizards have enclosed them all in chromium bubbles.

il
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CARRYING ON

I had a quarter on my person, left over from various loose change I
managed to cajole from mercenary meter maids. Ijust sat up there
In my attic with cold and crap outside and those cockroaches nibbling
at the photographs on the wall I’m so proud of.

There was a breeze from the mountains: queer, queer, lemon»aicl
cool green wind startles me throws me offa my couch, throws me outa
my haven which is the mystique of the incense burning, heretical
toiletries, and the water dripping through timeless water- clocks.

I left just when the windows were fogging up*-they fog up on winter
eveningSerand when incanting Hindus were proceeding home from
their factories; they don’t stop at the toy store to see the
whrrrwhrr toys or play with that spring» loaded tea pot.

l stepped out on skid row. I stepped out and itched my cheek which
had been burning from that tear which was ravaging hair follicles
and sacking colonies of sixteenth century acne on my face. When the
beggars begging in the street lifted their hats to me, making me cry,
and when they told me to be good, my bladder ached no mean ache.

Gave that quarter to some damned beggar on that street, teeth rattling
in that lemonaid cool green wind, whereas most folks enjoy themselves
sleeping it off in some fancy bed With some broad.

So Ipicked up some cat which had been prowling the streets of Rome,
perusing the graffiti in the slums, and we grappled up a fire escape
to sit on a talle tall building, to drink my wine and study the
old-testament.
(they told me it was all in
vain, told me god couldn't
reside in a cracking black
bible)
Just sitting up there on top of the mountain, in the clouds, ﬂoating
through white page after white page of Yogin bliss
(they said that Karma was
just a world. not an essence)
seeing dandelion wine
being brought up to Moses’ lips. Seeing
(Haiku is just words)
the wooden essence of life‘s works: just bobbing
up here in the clouds, paintings and poems up here being torn up
(Bikkhus are nuts)
bouncing and turning maudlin somersaults.

There was a store on the corner which I loved and will] to the end of
time. The store was where I wanted to be, to work. The small,

corner, grocery store is where America is okay, where the corporate,
cardboard faced, television people haven't come yet. I work there

in my dreams. Cops come around, tripple my nose to and fro, insiSt
on stealing my applcsrrthey love the ravishing tastes of those

plump ceramic ashtrays-rcomc around in those cops' hats of theirs.
No telling what nigger kid in the sttnnps they incinerated or what

old Bronxian lady they jollied against or where that beat up Ford
what‘s got a dent has been at.

And to the movies, spending again my perennial quarter. When the
thousand g-mcn came in the theatre, raped the mob with br tht-smilcd
trigger-squeczes, the little girl wandered out With no rv a scratch
from behind the hole in the screen. '

- Doug Fresh

 

