Letter 27 – w/ Walt Whitman Lurking

 

And are

you a champion   at least in your August mind channeling

Walt

Whitman where no bad bones exposed.

Sleep until the beep awakens

on

the August day & sleep some more.    The

banks of the Stuck slip in & out

of their regular routine

the alder grove & the mutilation differentiate her from the

Hudson which has a few issues of its own.

 

w/ Walt Whitman lurking

your time had less to be cheerful  -  your

beard hairs coarse  -  more gray & shaped

toward an image of Satan his bad ‘ol self

the king of darkness    one

pole your karma points to

& if

your lonely old courage teacher could read

palms what wd he say?

Open a bank account  -  eat more rice  -  make

soft your heart of hardened

clay

or feel the attack advancing cold as April

snow but not as pretty.

Your day is shaped into patterns your

tongue

is

invoking  so choose your prayers w/ care & sing.

 

7:58AM - 8.27.03

(Phrases taken from Jack Spicer translation of

F.G. Lorca’s Ode for Walt Whitman)