For Allen Ginsberg
I.
I saw the
best of people of my age group gobbled up by smut and your
madness,
your kind of madness, Allen Ginsberg,
in
San Francisco , in 1968, at the Golden Gate Park
and aged in drugs, and alcohol,
black,
yellow, brown, red and white, burning for lust, begging on the
streets—
yellow
teeth, sucked in eyes and cheeks, barely alive, at the mission
house, sucked in eyes, cold as ice,
demonic formed, filled, mimicking like a
sow, for more…
you
burnt their brains, and told them it was okay not insane, America
your enemy, their enemy, but it was
fools like you, staggering to your ill-illuminated light, with hallucinating
spines, and then off to Vietnam
I went, and met more drug induced
friends like you, I saw them wither away, you didn’t go but they did, while you
sucked the honey and money
of the many, and created the American
dream, the very one you scorned at with your wastebasket wisdom, you and
William S.,
the dope kings of fifties, the sparrows
of the sixties, the antichrists of
God
Almighty—exchanging dreams for nightmares, alcohol, dope and
orgies: the condemned gays, lesbians:
leading the blind, down
endless halls towards Hades,
I
saw it in Asia, America , in Europe : heroin, hash, opium, cocaine, whores,
it’s all
the same, all the same game, all trying to get a fixed, shredding the
brain, whacking the nerves, draping the blood, like a bug on the ass of
Zoo rat—whores; you were no more any
less, than a lesbian whore,
what
will they say of my generation, in a thousand years? Out of 105-
billion hum dumb bum beings, this was
the generation unseen!
Stale
beer, stale breath, stale booze, stale food, everybody for sale,
and nearly everything unclean, to
include sex, that’s why you
can’t get enough, it’s all too much,
half a bluff:
all
for jukebox jollies, all for escapes in alleys, to: Cambodia
dollars a year, laughing at the
hopeless, once they take your cure,
with
your words—your poetry, which should have been, all this is noble
and clean: oh, yes: you loved the
American dream, you ferry, who wailed that America
was uncaring: you were the Sodom
all
in one: the protesting narcotic king, while ingesting it, investing it: all
for a fancy…
II.
What demon
bashed open the doors of Sheol—for you? Ate up our
souls, in the process, cemented our
hearts, wounded our brains to
morose thoughts?
Seth!
Embedded in the head of the Sphinx! Villain of the Gods! Begging
to be worshiped, deity of storm and
turmoil, great, great—one
hundred times great grandfather to
you, Allen Ginsberg!
Seth!
Setekh! Set! Nightmare of Osiris and Horus the rival! Canaanite god
Baal! Seth the human form with the head
of an animal!
Seth
the doglike animal, impenetrable—once imprisoned in the Sphinx! Seth the
skull-cracked soulless demon of sorrows! Seth variously species
of the wolfhound!
Seth
the storm of war! Set, Osama’s guardian demon. Bashed open the
doors of Sheol for you, Allen: for you,
for you, just for you…
Seth
whose heart is purely evil, putty, and putrid! Set whose blood is
running Wall Street like a boar or some
wild beast, like the okapi, who
remains obscure.
Seth
the eyes for the blind public and guardian of the widows of war:
Bush’s war, now Obama’s war and consort
to the U.S. U.S.
Seth
whose love is fertility on every corner of the America
do it now, why wait, nothing’s a
sin—according to Obama (that’s
your
philosophy too, like two peas in a pod,
isn’t it Allen?), let’s add
Gay
marriages, abortions—make everything
unnatural: why not, it’s part of
the plot… wake up in Seth heaven! With
devils streaming out of the
sky—as we all await the big lie, Obama
the dark Messiah!
Seth! Setekh! Set!
Will never abandon you, never ever—robot to your
outside door! Waiting to score,
invisible with erect ears, donkey ears,
that hears all your moans and groans and
cherishes them, like old
rotting bones, livers and throats. Lover
of the blind, crippled and
crazy, and lazy.
The angels in heaven,
per near broke their backs, lifting Seth, bringing
him back to Sheol, Hades, Hell! He had
three-forth the souls of earth
attached to him, like worms! Hell, which
exists everywhere within the
crust of the earth—cheered with
invisible monstrous Yowls, madness!
“The Wild Boar, the Mantic ore, has
returned!” They Yowled.
What now? “Send
Agaliarept,” they cried, at Hades pier! Satan’s
Henchman! “He will illuminate the
religions of the earth with hate, and
all its cities with dreams and visions
and adoration of demonic
beings…they haven’t had enough yet!—give
them more, more, more!”
Burst
through! Over Hades walls, go down the floodwaters of Hades
River, up through Paradise Pike, bring
despair for all America
children, another four years of Obama
will do it, or his like. Rewire,
and distort even more, before the new
generation grows wise and
bored!
Like Europe …bring up the smut, if
there’s any room left.
There
is total holy black laughter in Sheol tonight!
Seth
is telling it all! The wild hearts of America ,
Europe, South America ,
Satan speed!” to Agaliarept… “Have them
jump off buildings, roofs,
bridges will do quiet well! Have them
hide inside their drugs and
alcohol; suicide, suicide, is the kick,
let them think it’s a fade;
lick the poison lips of Seth, Allen and
Agaliarept: bring it all out onto
the open streets!—nice and neat!”
III.
Allen
Ginsberg! They’re with you, heart and soul
wherever your madness goes, they go
I’m
sure you’re in hell,
where you must feel at home: not strange
at all!
They’re
with you in Hell on earth, hell in their dreams,
hell, in their visions, in their hopes,
and schemes
the shade of your shadow is still left,
oh yes!
They’re
with you Allen Ginsberg, and your buddy
William S. Burroughs, as if in Tangier…!
Taking
all that dope, and alcohol, and enmeshed
in sexual
dissension of your soul: orgies, sodomy …
They’re
still with you Allen, and William S.
now down there, if you can hear, go
ahead and laugh
at us, with that in-decrepit humor, it
really doesn’t
mean much, you made such a fuss!
They’re
still with you Allen Ginsberg up here, too
great writers of smut and slush and pure
dreadful, sexual gossip
They’re
still with you Allen, up here, soon to be down
there, soon to be with you forever…and
ever…
the world didn’t change because you came
they just played the game, and gave you
fame
and watched you drain, and drain and
drain
They’re
still with you Allen, the same, the same gang
the worms of the world, Satan’s
facilities
I’m
even with you Allen, thinking of you anyway
wondering if you brought your Harpies to
hell?
I’m
even with you Allen, oh yes, but I got to be
careful, lest I end up in a
straightjacket,
reading your crap, your bullshit…
your soul is where it belongs, in the
abyss!
the world is no better because of you,
perhaps
not all that worse, but you are
the demons saw you coming, and
rehearsed,
rented out a hearse… and simply waited!
They’re
still with you though, Allen & William
up here, up here, up here, on planet
earth,
the ungodly, the madhouse, the many
sick minds: sick minds breed sick minds—
you know that better than anyone!
They’re
still with you Allen, and your insane plot:
your revolution of smut: and I heard
Allen:
“Leave evil be evil, and let the defiled
remain defiled, and the dead lie with
the dead,
the blasphemy with the blasphemy—let
them
hide under their bed sheets if they
want!
the Holy Spirit has abandoned them…
one and for all, yes, one and for all,
for all…
there will be no more reprieve, only
recall!
And
I heard Allen, I really heard, down there:
there will be tears and garnishing of
teeth,
dripping of sweat, and shock, no mercy,
eternal domination: can you write a new
poem
and tell me about this? Please, please
tell
Seth, we want to hear more from you
about
when you woke up, as if out of a coma
and
there you were—electrified with roaring
demonic
beings, hungry and lonesome, hopeless:
staring, just staring, as if you were the
prize
worm—to be sodomized!
Don’t
take it wrong, you ought to like this poem, it’s
like yours just contrary … and don’t
worry,
they’re still with you, the morbid
sinister gang!
They’ll all be seeing you soon I think.
#3358 (6-9-2012)
Written in Lima , Peru
