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23 august 1971 years later at 735 a m my time


i could swear that this isn’t my pen-you
know-the one that belongs to me that’s because
this one writes black and mine writes blue

the t v commercial just indicated the coming
of the golden goddess how unoriginal

the moon is
         the night’s sunlight
                    
   only
the moon isn’t hot it’s hot and cold

tonight i was wrapped around your
    silent company
   and
              i didn’t want to detach myself
holy christ we’re all travelling through
                    time and time is travelling
  and
                       everything’s trying to go faster
than everything else and everyone’s trying
           to be better
                        than everyone else and it can only
                                      end in an endless marathon
but tonight i was wrapped around your
                        silent company

the voices of dick cavette and elke sommers
                 paint my ears but they don’t reach
         my mind though

people are so many horses grazing
in a poisoned pasture
                                    which completes itself at the end of the road or around the bend or
                                          something like that only
         if we escape
             everyone will follow us and bother us
                  and
                          poison our pasture

what color is your love
mine is kaleidoscopic but don’t brag
 about it
                          because
somebody might find out and they’ll
                       rip me off
colors don’t come easy you know

i don’t care what words sprinkle from the
        mouths of
        scientists
        or
        clergymen
god and i are riding a
                         surfboard
and the crest of the wave is a foamy
                                    
           mixture of rodent lovers
                    and
glaciers of melted picture frames
                                          come on
they’ll never catch you

peter was the drummer
gary was the pianist
bill was the guitarist
                          and i was the life
len thomas was the death he choked it
                                                           with the thin string of a
                            stop sign

stephen stills and i walked
through a concrete atmosphere of
                                                lettered
                                                abbreviations
and
                                                fire blazing
       from an unseen section of life
suddenly we stopped to eat
                            but
     found that
                  consumption didn’t necessarily denote
                                        stopping
so we took care of business ate and
                                            stopped
                                                      to
                                                      rest
but we couldn’t sleep so
                                     we
wrote a song died and expected to
                   wake up before the sun removed its
                    sweat suit
right after
             it did
                      we woke up again
but we didn’t like it
so we wrote on a
                            bathroom wall
and went our
separate ways

if door knobs were
           as dead as
the batteries in your luxurious cassette player
then they
wouldn’t
even
turn no music tonight

when i get married
i’m going to marry
                              my own wife
do you want to be
                              my own wife
                 if you don’t
                                  go and pitch
for the cleveland indians
                                         at least
mow their lawn
they need their lawn mowed

is
   is graham nash
any relation to
       alexander bell
            as a matter of fact
   he
invited me to use
        his telephone

moses was
    jimi hendrix
    to all that
   he knew
                       after
he experienced
 his electric burning bush
he died from
                   an o d
of
                     old age
his family destroyed itself
                    with the argument over
moses insurance money
                                           little did they know
              that
moses was the original bookie
           to take bets
                        on a
                        slab of stone

if i get another band together
     i think
     i would have
billy the kid on drums
robin hood on bass
stan laurel on guitar
joseph the carpenter on keyboard
     me on top
                    and
you on the bottom
                                         trouble is
we’d never get
any
     jobs

right on dolores
sleep for the rest of
                   your life look at me
through those
   dilated cobras
     in
                         your mind
                                               and if the revolution
                                  gets too
                                                           hot cool
                          yourself on a bed of
                                            hot coals

did you see the trench coat jesus wore
          it was made of
                                 dark green
cavalry men
who turn red when
                 they
                         get
                               wet
if lightening strikes
                                    jesus dies
                                   if jesus lives
pigs die
               if pigs sleep corporations paint
                                    why did jesus run for a second term
                                     he never would
                have died
            in office

                                      jesus
          go to
                 the farm
                                      his mother used to say
and don’t forget to bring the
                                 wine
to the
                                 wedding

and then
                                   jesus transplants
an arrested heart from the
                                      foot of a sleeping stone to the
                                    eyelash
of a dead man and
                     says something about
bacon and eggs and puts
                                    his donkey-hair
eye-glasses on and
                        reads
                             the
                             newspaper
           of course it causes
                                    his thoughts to crumble
like a strange
                                        wall made of
                                        rubber band-aids
trying to escape
                                        jesus
hires
walter cronkite to hold
                                his erected penis in
his safe until
                               he returns

                                  sleek and silly
it gives me a pain to lean against
               your bed’s bars

let’s hold on to our fantasy
                                              anyway
ring it out
but
          hold it tight

if john f kennedy was really
     president of a country
why did he borrow money from me
                 to buy a
                                           tuna-fish sandwich

when was the last time that
                                 your rapport with a microphone became so intense
                        that it made
                                    you cry about the past
                     
 and
look into chronicles of
                                                                  historic
                             tragedy
          i speak with a
          guitar
                 on
                      occasion
to relieve the intentional directional signal
                    playing with the boy
next door

                                               the skies of
new mexico are so clear
                               that
you can see the sneezes
                               people put into the air
together
you and i will rush to new mexico and
                               defeat its purpose with
a battle field and a football
                only to discover that
                                           love
eventually explodes and crushes
every
                  non-living
                  non-return
sea weed that
                 crawls
                    into
                       shelter
                                if it doesn’t break
                                     it at least
sprains until it can’t bend
                                      anymore

or we can stay here
                                             and
                      strangle the fog or
eat the bones of the dead achilles tendon

       driving down the road
i thought about a future of your companionship
                    embraced by logs and
                      kissed by the songs of birds
                      we laid together under a
rainstorm and sang power to the people

after orgasm we slept until the next century
where we found that
                           a slice of earth
              had been eaten by a weir wolf
             until adolf hitler put a stop to it
and the knife hurt as
he separately sliced our genitals
and harmed
                                our egos

i’ll
       sleep alone in my wakefulness
i’ll
       talk to you in
                   your absence
i’ll
      make love to you with
     my impotence
i’ll
      do all this just to make
       you happy

COPYRIGHT 2005 by Michael Bonanno
LOC Reg. #TXu 934-647

Reproduction of “23 august 1971 years later
at 735 a m my time” or any part therein
without the express written permission of
Michael Bonanno is prohibited unless the
reproduction meets The Copyright Act “fair
use” doctrine, (title 17, U. S. Code)..

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