A cowboy is a lonesome man
There's none more lonesome in the land
He rides atop his only friend
His horse, a companion on whom he can depend
His woman may be miles behind him
Sadness and desperation may find him
But a cowboy who's wise will turn to the earth
To lend him solace and even mirth
The earth from which all beauty springs
Such bounty forth she always brings
He'll dig a hole with cracked, scorched hands
Pour in all the water that hole demands
Until that earth is moist, just right
The earth'll never put up any kind of a fight
His cries of joy no one will hear
In case I am not being clear
I'm saying that cowboy is going to fuck a hole in the ground
We all do it, that's what I have found
Any cowboy that knows that lonesome hell
Can fashion a land virginny well
If a cowboy's seed worked like other seeds
There'd be cowboys growing across the plains like weeds.
A cowboy is a lonely man
Re: A cowboy is a lonely man
I. The Burial of the Dead
April is the cruellest month, breeding
Lilacs out of the dead land, mixing
Memory and desire, stirring
Dull roots with spring rain.
Winter kept us warm, covering
Earth in forgetful snow, feeding
A little life with dried tubers.
Summer surprised us, coming over the Starnbergersee
With a shower of rain; we stopped in the colonnade,
And went on in sunlight, into the Hofgarten,
And drank coffee, and talked for an hour.
Bin gar keine Russin, stamm’ aus Litauen, echt deutsch.
And when we were children, staying at the arch-duke’s,
My cousin’s, he took me out on a sled,
And I was frightened. He said, Marie,
Marie, hold on tight. And down we went.
In the mountains, there you feel free.
I read, much of the night, and go south in the winter.
What are the roots that clutch, what branches grow
Out of this stony rubbish? Son of man,
You cannot say, or guess, for you know only
A heap of broken images, where the sun beats,
And the dead tree gives no shelter, the cricket no relief,
And the dry stone no sound of water. Only
There is shadow under this red rock,
(Come in under the shadow of this red rock),
And I will show you something different from either
Your shadow at morning striding behind you
Or your shadow at evening rising to meet you;
I will show you fear in a handful of dust.
Frisch weht der Wind
Der Heimat zu
Mein Irisch Kind,
Wo weilest du?
“You gave me hyacinths first a year ago;
“They called me the hyacinth girl.”
—Yet when we came back, late, from the Hyacinth garden,
Your arms full, and your hair wet, I could not
Speak, and my eyes failed, I was neither
Living nor dead, and I knew nothing,
Looking into the heart of light, the silence.
Oed’ und leer das Meer.
Madame Sosostris, famous clairvoyante,
Had a bad cold, nevertheless
Is known to be the wisest woman in Europe,
With a wicked pack of cards. Here, said she,
Is your card, the drowned Phoenician Sailor,
(Those are pearls that were his eyes. Look!)
Here is Belladonna, the Lady of the Rocks,
The lady of situations.
Here is the man with three staves, and here the Wheel,
And here is the one-eyed merchant, and this card,
Which is blank, is something he carries on his back,
Which I am forbidden to see. I do not find
The Hanged Man. Fear death by water.
I see crowds of people, walking round in a ring.
Thank you. If you see dear Mrs. Equitone,
Tell her I bring the horoscope myself:
One must be so careful these days.
Unreal City,
Under the brown fog of a winter dawn,
A crowd flowed over London Bridge, so many,
I had not thought death had undone so many.
Sighs, short and infrequent, were exhaled,
And each man fixed his eyes before his feet.
Flowed up the hill and down King William Street,
To where Saint Mary Woolnoth kept the hours
With a dead sound on the final stroke of nine.
There I saw one I knew, and stopped him, crying: “Stetson!
“You who were with me in the ships at Mylae!
“That corpse you planted last year in your garden,
“Has it begun to sprout? Will it bloom this year?
“Or has the sudden frost disturbed its bed?
“Oh keep the Dog far hence, that’s friend to men,
“Or with his nails he’ll dig it up again!
“You! hypocrite lecteur!—mon semblable,—mon frère!”
II. A Game of Chess
The Chair she sat in, like a burnished throne,
Glowed on the marble, where the glass
Held up by standards wrought with fruited vines
From which a golden Cupidon peeped out
(Another hid his eyes behind his wing)
Doubled the flames of sevenbranched candelabra
Reflecting light upon the table as
The glitter of her jewels rose to meet it,
From satin cases poured in rich profusion;
In vials of ivory and coloured glass
Unstoppered, lurked her strange synthetic perfumes,
Unguent, powdered, or liquid—troubled, confused
And drowned the sense in odours; stirred by the air
That freshened from the window, these ascended
In fattening the prolonged candle-flames,
Flung their smoke into the laquearia,
Stirring the pattern on the coffered ceiling.
Huge sea-wood fed with copper
Burned green and orange, framed by the coloured stone,
In which sad light a carvéd dolphin swam.
Above the antique mantel was displayed
As though a window gave upon the sylvan scene
The change of Philomel, by the barbarous king
So rudely forced; yet there the nightingale
Filled all the desert with inviolable voice
And still she cried, and still the world pursues,
“Jug Jug” to dirty ears.
And other withered stumps of time
Were told upon the walls; staring forms
Leaned out, leaning, hushing the room enclosed.
Footsteps shuffled on the stair.
Under the firelight, under the brush, her hair
Spread out in fiery points
Glowed into words, then would be savagely still.
“My nerves are bad tonight. Yes, bad. Stay with me.
“Speak to me. Why do you never speak. Speak.
“What are you thinking of? What thinking? What?
“I never know what you are thinking. Think.”
I think we are in rats’ alley
Where the dead men lost their bones.
“What is that noise?”
The wind under the door.
“What is that noise now? What is the wind doing?”
Nothing again nothing.
“Do
“You know nothing? Do you see nothing? Do you remember
“Nothing?”
I remember
Those are pearls that were his eyes.
“Are you alive, or not? Is there nothing in your head?”
But
O O O O that Shakespeherian Rag—
It’s so elegant
So intelligent
“What shall I do now? What shall I do?”
“I shall rush out as I am, and walk the street
“With my hair down, so. What shall we do tomorrow?
“What shall we ever do?”
The hot water at ten.
And if it rains, a closed car at four.
And we shall play a game of chess,
Pressing lidless eyes and waiting for a knock upon the door.
When Lil’s husband got demobbed, I said—
I didn’t mince my words, I said to her myself,
HURRY UP PLEASE ITS TIME
Now Albert’s coming back, make yourself a bit smart.
He’ll want to know what you done with that money he gave you
To get yourself some teeth. He did, I was there.
You have them all out, Lil, and get a nice set,
He said, I swear, I can’t bear to look at you.
And no more can’t I, I said, and think of poor Albert,
He’s been in the army four years, he wants a good time,
And if you don’t give it him, there’s others will, I said.
Oh is there, she said. Something o’ that, I said.
Then I’ll know who to thank, she said, and give me a straight look.
HURRY UP PLEASE ITS TIME
If you don’t like it you can get on with it, I said.
Others can pick and choose if you can’t.
But if Albert makes off, it won’t be for lack of telling.
You ought to be ashamed, I said, to look so antique.
(And her only thirty-one.)
I can’t help it, she said, pulling a long face,
It’s them pills I took, to bring it off, she said.
(She’s had five already, and nearly died of young George.)
The chemist said it would be all right, but I’ve never been the same.
You are a proper fool, I said.
Well, if Albert won’t leave you alone, there it is, I said,
What you get married for if you don’t want children?
HURRY UP PLEASE ITS TIME
Well, that Sunday Albert was home, they had a hot gammon,
And they asked me in to dinner, to get the beauty of it hot—
HURRY UP PLEASE ITS TIME
HURRY UP PLEASE ITS TIME
Goonight Bill. Goonight Lou. Goonight May. Goonight.
Ta ta. Goonight. Goonight.
Good night, ladies, good night, sweet ladies, good night, good night.
III. The Fire Sermon
The river’s tent is broken: the last fingers of leaf
Clutch and sink into the wet bank. The wind
Crosses the brown land, unheard. The nymphs are departed.
Sweet Thames, run softly, till I end my song.
The river bears no empty bottles, sandwich papers,
Silk handkerchiefs, cardboard boxes, cigarette ends
Or other testimony of summer nights. The nymphs are departed.
And their friends, the loitering heirs of city directors;
Departed, have left no addresses.
By the waters of Leman I sat down and wept . . .
Sweet Thames, run softly till I end my song,
Sweet Thames, run softly, for I speak not loud or long.
But at my back in a cold blast I hear
The rattle of the bones, and chuckle spread from ear to ear.
A rat crept softly through the vegetation
Dragging its slimy belly on the bank
While I was fishing in the dull canal
On a winter evening round behind the gashouse
Musing upon the king my brother’s wreck
And on the king my father’s death before him.
White bodies naked on the low damp ground
And bones cast in a little low dry garret,
Rattled by the rat’s foot only, year to year.
But at my back from time to time I hear
The sound of horns and motors, which shall bring
Sweeney to Mrs. Porter in the spring.
O the moon shone bright on Mrs. Porter
And on her daughter
They wash their feet in soda water
Et O ces voix d’enfants, chantant dans la coupole!
Twit twit twit
Jug jug jug jug jug jug
So rudely forc’d.
Tereu
Unreal City
Under the brown fog of a winter noon
Mr. Eugenides, the Smyrna merchant
Unshaven, with a pocket full of currants
C.i.f. London: documents at sight,
Asked me in demotic French
To luncheon at the Cannon Street Hotel
Followed by a weekend at the Metropole.
At the violet hour, when the eyes and back
Turn upward from the desk, when the human engine waits
Like a taxi throbbing waiting,
I Tiresias, though blind, throbbing between two lives,
Old man with wrinkled female breasts, can see
At the violet hour, the evening hour that strives
Homeward, and brings the sailor home from sea,
The typist home at teatime, clears her breakfast, lights
Her stove, and lays out food in tins.
Out of the window perilously spread
Her drying combinations touched by the sun’s last rays,
On the divan are piled (at night her bed)
Stockings, slippers, camisoles, and stays.
I Tiresias, old man with wrinkled dugs
Perceived the scene, and foretold the rest—
I too awaited the expected guest.
He, the young man carbuncular, arrives,
A small house agent’s clerk, with one bold stare,
One of the low on whom assurance sits
As a silk hat on a Bradford millionaire.
The time is now propitious, as he guesses,
The meal is ended, she is bored and tired,
Endeavours to engage her in caresses
Which still are unreproved, if undesired.
Flushed and decided, he assaults at once;
Exploring hands encounter no defence;
His vanity requires no response,
And makes a welcome of indifference.
(And I Tiresias have foresuffered all
Enacted on this same divan or bed;
I who have sat by Thebes below the wall
And walked among the lowest of the dead.)
Bestows one final patronising kiss,
And gropes his way, finding the stairs unlit . . .
She turns and looks a moment in the glass,
Hardly aware of her departed lover;
Her brain allows one half-formed thought to pass:
“Well now that’s done: and I’m glad it’s over.”
When lovely woman stoops to folly and
Paces about her room again, alone,
She smoothes her hair with automatic hand,
And puts a record on the gramophone.
“This music crept by me upon the waters”
And along the Strand, up Queen Victoria Street.
O City city, I can sometimes hear
Beside a public bar in Lower Thames Street,
The pleasant whining of a mandoline
And a clatter and a chatter from within
Where fishmen lounge at noon: where the walls
Of Magnus Martyr hold
Inexplicable splendour of Ionian white and gold.
The river sweats
Oil and tar
The barges drift
With the turning tide
Red sails
Wide
To leeward, swing on the heavy spar.
The barges wash
Drifting logs
Down Greenwich reach
Past the Isle of Dogs.
Weialala leia
Wallala leialala
Elizabeth and Leicester
Beating oars
The stern was formed
A gilded shell
Red and gold
The brisk swell
Rippled both shores
Southwest wind
Carried down stream
The peal of bells
White towers
Weialala leia
Wallala leialala
“Trams and dusty trees.
Highbury bore me. Richmond and Kew
Undid me. By Richmond I raised my knees
Supine on the floor of a narrow canoe.”
“My feet are at Moorgate, and my heart
Under my feet. After the event
He wept. He promised a ‘new start.’
I made no comment. What should I resent?”
“On Margate Sands.
I can connect
Nothing with nothing.
The broken fingernails of dirty hands.
My people humble people who expect
Nothing.”
la la
To Carthage then I came
Burning burning burning burning
O Lord Thou pluckest me out
O Lord Thou pluckest
burning
IV. Death by Water
Phlebas the Phoenician, a fortnight dead,
Forgot the cry of gulls, and the deep sea swell
And the profit and loss.
A current under sea
Picked his bones in whispers. As he rose and fell
He passed the stages of his age and youth
Entering the whirlpool.
Gentile or Jew
O you who turn the wheel and look to windward,
Consider Phlebas, who was once handsome and tall as you.
V. What the Thunder Said
After the torchlight red on sweaty faces
After the frosty silence in the gardens
After the agony in stony places
The shouting and the crying
Prison and palace and reverberation
Of thunder of spring over distant mountains
He who was living is now dead
We who were living are now dying
With a little patience
Here is no water but only rock
Rock and no water and the sandy road
The road winding above among the mountains
Which are mountains of rock without water
If there were water we should stop and drink
Amongst the rock one cannot stop or think
Sweat is dry and feet are in the sand
If there were only water amongst the rock
Dead mountain mouth of carious teeth that cannot spit
Here one can neither stand nor lie nor sit
There is not even silence in the mountains
But dry sterile thunder without rain
There is not even solitude in the mountains
But red sullen faces sneer and snarl
From doors of mudcracked houses
If there were water
And no rock
If there were rock
And also water
And water
A spring
A pool among the rock
If there were the sound of water only
Not the cicada
And dry grass singing
But sound of water over a rock
Where the hermit-thrush sings in the pine trees
Drip drop drip drop drop drop drop
But there is no water
Who is the third who walks always beside you?
When I count, there are only you and I together
But when I look ahead up the white road
There is always another one walking beside you
Gliding wrapt in a brown mantle, hooded
I do not know whether a man or a woman
—But who is that on the other side of you?
What is that sound high in the air
Murmur of maternal lamentation
Who are those hooded hordes swarming
Over endless plains, stumbling in cracked earth
Ringed by the flat horizon only
What is the city over the mountains
Cracks and reforms and bursts in the violet air
Falling towers
Jerusalem Athens Alexandria
Vienna London
Unreal
A woman drew her long black hair out tight
And fiddled whisper music on those strings
And bats with baby faces in the violet light
Whistled, and beat their wings
And crawled head downward down a blackened wall
And upside down in air were towers
Tolling reminiscent bells, that kept the hours
And voices singing out of empty cisterns and exhausted wells.
In this decayed hole among the mountains
In the faint moonlight, the grass is singing
Over the tumbled graves, about the chapel
There is the empty chapel, only the wind’s home.
It has no windows, and the door swings,
Dry bones can harm no one.
Only a cock stood on the rooftree
Co co rico co co rico
In a flash of lightning. Then a damp gust
Bringing rain
Ganga was sunken, and the limp leaves
Waited for rain, while the black clouds
Gathered far distant, over Himavant.
The jungle crouched, humped in silence.
Then spoke the thunder
DA
Datta: what have we given?
My friend, blood shaking my heart
The awful daring of a moment’s surrender
Which an age of prudence can never retract
By this, and this only, we have existed
Which is not to be found in our obituaries
Or in memories draped by the beneficent spider
Or under seals broken by the lean solicitor
In our empty rooms
DA
Dayadhvam: I have heard the key
Turn in the door once and turn once only
We think of the key, each in his prison
Thinking of the key, each confirms a prison
Only at nightfall, aethereal rumours
Revive for a moment a broken Coriolanus
DA
Damyata: The boat responded
Gaily, to the hand expert with sail and oar
The sea was calm, your heart would have responded
Gaily, when invited, beating obedient
To controlling hands
I sat upon the shore
Fishing, with the arid plain behind me
Shall I at least set my lands in order?
London Bridge is falling down falling down falling down
Poi s’ascose nel foco che gli affina
Quando fiam uti chelidon—O swallow swallow
Le Prince d’Aquitaine à la tour abolie
These fragments I have shored against my ruins
Why then Ile fit you. Hieronymo’s mad againe.
Datta. Dayadhvam. Damyata.
Shantih shantih shantih
April is the cruellest month, breeding
Lilacs out of the dead land, mixing
Memory and desire, stirring
Dull roots with spring rain.
Winter kept us warm, covering
Earth in forgetful snow, feeding
A little life with dried tubers.
Summer surprised us, coming over the Starnbergersee
With a shower of rain; we stopped in the colonnade,
And went on in sunlight, into the Hofgarten,
And drank coffee, and talked for an hour.
Bin gar keine Russin, stamm’ aus Litauen, echt deutsch.
And when we were children, staying at the arch-duke’s,
My cousin’s, he took me out on a sled,
And I was frightened. He said, Marie,
Marie, hold on tight. And down we went.
In the mountains, there you feel free.
I read, much of the night, and go south in the winter.
What are the roots that clutch, what branches grow
Out of this stony rubbish? Son of man,
You cannot say, or guess, for you know only
A heap of broken images, where the sun beats,
And the dead tree gives no shelter, the cricket no relief,
And the dry stone no sound of water. Only
There is shadow under this red rock,
(Come in under the shadow of this red rock),
And I will show you something different from either
Your shadow at morning striding behind you
Or your shadow at evening rising to meet you;
I will show you fear in a handful of dust.
Frisch weht der Wind
Der Heimat zu
Mein Irisch Kind,
Wo weilest du?
“You gave me hyacinths first a year ago;
“They called me the hyacinth girl.”
—Yet when we came back, late, from the Hyacinth garden,
Your arms full, and your hair wet, I could not
Speak, and my eyes failed, I was neither
Living nor dead, and I knew nothing,
Looking into the heart of light, the silence.
Oed’ und leer das Meer.
Madame Sosostris, famous clairvoyante,
Had a bad cold, nevertheless
Is known to be the wisest woman in Europe,
With a wicked pack of cards. Here, said she,
Is your card, the drowned Phoenician Sailor,
(Those are pearls that were his eyes. Look!)
Here is Belladonna, the Lady of the Rocks,
The lady of situations.
Here is the man with three staves, and here the Wheel,
And here is the one-eyed merchant, and this card,
Which is blank, is something he carries on his back,
Which I am forbidden to see. I do not find
The Hanged Man. Fear death by water.
I see crowds of people, walking round in a ring.
Thank you. If you see dear Mrs. Equitone,
Tell her I bring the horoscope myself:
One must be so careful these days.
Unreal City,
Under the brown fog of a winter dawn,
A crowd flowed over London Bridge, so many,
I had not thought death had undone so many.
Sighs, short and infrequent, were exhaled,
And each man fixed his eyes before his feet.
Flowed up the hill and down King William Street,
To where Saint Mary Woolnoth kept the hours
With a dead sound on the final stroke of nine.
There I saw one I knew, and stopped him, crying: “Stetson!
“You who were with me in the ships at Mylae!
“That corpse you planted last year in your garden,
“Has it begun to sprout? Will it bloom this year?
“Or has the sudden frost disturbed its bed?
“Oh keep the Dog far hence, that’s friend to men,
“Or with his nails he’ll dig it up again!
“You! hypocrite lecteur!—mon semblable,—mon frère!”
II. A Game of Chess
The Chair she sat in, like a burnished throne,
Glowed on the marble, where the glass
Held up by standards wrought with fruited vines
From which a golden Cupidon peeped out
(Another hid his eyes behind his wing)
Doubled the flames of sevenbranched candelabra
Reflecting light upon the table as
The glitter of her jewels rose to meet it,
From satin cases poured in rich profusion;
In vials of ivory and coloured glass
Unstoppered, lurked her strange synthetic perfumes,
Unguent, powdered, or liquid—troubled, confused
And drowned the sense in odours; stirred by the air
That freshened from the window, these ascended
In fattening the prolonged candle-flames,
Flung their smoke into the laquearia,
Stirring the pattern on the coffered ceiling.
Huge sea-wood fed with copper
Burned green and orange, framed by the coloured stone,
In which sad light a carvéd dolphin swam.
Above the antique mantel was displayed
As though a window gave upon the sylvan scene
The change of Philomel, by the barbarous king
So rudely forced; yet there the nightingale
Filled all the desert with inviolable voice
And still she cried, and still the world pursues,
“Jug Jug” to dirty ears.
And other withered stumps of time
Were told upon the walls; staring forms
Leaned out, leaning, hushing the room enclosed.
Footsteps shuffled on the stair.
Under the firelight, under the brush, her hair
Spread out in fiery points
Glowed into words, then would be savagely still.
“My nerves are bad tonight. Yes, bad. Stay with me.
“Speak to me. Why do you never speak. Speak.
“What are you thinking of? What thinking? What?
“I never know what you are thinking. Think.”
I think we are in rats’ alley
Where the dead men lost their bones.
“What is that noise?”
The wind under the door.
“What is that noise now? What is the wind doing?”
Nothing again nothing.
“Do
“You know nothing? Do you see nothing? Do you remember
“Nothing?”
I remember
Those are pearls that were his eyes.
“Are you alive, or not? Is there nothing in your head?”
But
O O O O that Shakespeherian Rag—
It’s so elegant
So intelligent
“What shall I do now? What shall I do?”
“I shall rush out as I am, and walk the street
“With my hair down, so. What shall we do tomorrow?
“What shall we ever do?”
The hot water at ten.
And if it rains, a closed car at four.
And we shall play a game of chess,
Pressing lidless eyes and waiting for a knock upon the door.
When Lil’s husband got demobbed, I said—
I didn’t mince my words, I said to her myself,
HURRY UP PLEASE ITS TIME
Now Albert’s coming back, make yourself a bit smart.
He’ll want to know what you done with that money he gave you
To get yourself some teeth. He did, I was there.
You have them all out, Lil, and get a nice set,
He said, I swear, I can’t bear to look at you.
And no more can’t I, I said, and think of poor Albert,
He’s been in the army four years, he wants a good time,
And if you don’t give it him, there’s others will, I said.
Oh is there, she said. Something o’ that, I said.
Then I’ll know who to thank, she said, and give me a straight look.
HURRY UP PLEASE ITS TIME
If you don’t like it you can get on with it, I said.
Others can pick and choose if you can’t.
But if Albert makes off, it won’t be for lack of telling.
You ought to be ashamed, I said, to look so antique.
(And her only thirty-one.)
I can’t help it, she said, pulling a long face,
It’s them pills I took, to bring it off, she said.
(She’s had five already, and nearly died of young George.)
The chemist said it would be all right, but I’ve never been the same.
You are a proper fool, I said.
Well, if Albert won’t leave you alone, there it is, I said,
What you get married for if you don’t want children?
HURRY UP PLEASE ITS TIME
Well, that Sunday Albert was home, they had a hot gammon,
And they asked me in to dinner, to get the beauty of it hot—
HURRY UP PLEASE ITS TIME
HURRY UP PLEASE ITS TIME
Goonight Bill. Goonight Lou. Goonight May. Goonight.
Ta ta. Goonight. Goonight.
Good night, ladies, good night, sweet ladies, good night, good night.
III. The Fire Sermon
The river’s tent is broken: the last fingers of leaf
Clutch and sink into the wet bank. The wind
Crosses the brown land, unheard. The nymphs are departed.
Sweet Thames, run softly, till I end my song.
The river bears no empty bottles, sandwich papers,
Silk handkerchiefs, cardboard boxes, cigarette ends
Or other testimony of summer nights. The nymphs are departed.
And their friends, the loitering heirs of city directors;
Departed, have left no addresses.
By the waters of Leman I sat down and wept . . .
Sweet Thames, run softly till I end my song,
Sweet Thames, run softly, for I speak not loud or long.
But at my back in a cold blast I hear
The rattle of the bones, and chuckle spread from ear to ear.
A rat crept softly through the vegetation
Dragging its slimy belly on the bank
While I was fishing in the dull canal
On a winter evening round behind the gashouse
Musing upon the king my brother’s wreck
And on the king my father’s death before him.
White bodies naked on the low damp ground
And bones cast in a little low dry garret,
Rattled by the rat’s foot only, year to year.
But at my back from time to time I hear
The sound of horns and motors, which shall bring
Sweeney to Mrs. Porter in the spring.
O the moon shone bright on Mrs. Porter
And on her daughter
They wash their feet in soda water
Et O ces voix d’enfants, chantant dans la coupole!
Twit twit twit
Jug jug jug jug jug jug
So rudely forc’d.
Tereu
Unreal City
Under the brown fog of a winter noon
Mr. Eugenides, the Smyrna merchant
Unshaven, with a pocket full of currants
C.i.f. London: documents at sight,
Asked me in demotic French
To luncheon at the Cannon Street Hotel
Followed by a weekend at the Metropole.
At the violet hour, when the eyes and back
Turn upward from the desk, when the human engine waits
Like a taxi throbbing waiting,
I Tiresias, though blind, throbbing between two lives,
Old man with wrinkled female breasts, can see
At the violet hour, the evening hour that strives
Homeward, and brings the sailor home from sea,
The typist home at teatime, clears her breakfast, lights
Her stove, and lays out food in tins.
Out of the window perilously spread
Her drying combinations touched by the sun’s last rays,
On the divan are piled (at night her bed)
Stockings, slippers, camisoles, and stays.
I Tiresias, old man with wrinkled dugs
Perceived the scene, and foretold the rest—
I too awaited the expected guest.
He, the young man carbuncular, arrives,
A small house agent’s clerk, with one bold stare,
One of the low on whom assurance sits
As a silk hat on a Bradford millionaire.
The time is now propitious, as he guesses,
The meal is ended, she is bored and tired,
Endeavours to engage her in caresses
Which still are unreproved, if undesired.
Flushed and decided, he assaults at once;
Exploring hands encounter no defence;
His vanity requires no response,
And makes a welcome of indifference.
(And I Tiresias have foresuffered all
Enacted on this same divan or bed;
I who have sat by Thebes below the wall
And walked among the lowest of the dead.)
Bestows one final patronising kiss,
And gropes his way, finding the stairs unlit . . .
She turns and looks a moment in the glass,
Hardly aware of her departed lover;
Her brain allows one half-formed thought to pass:
“Well now that’s done: and I’m glad it’s over.”
When lovely woman stoops to folly and
Paces about her room again, alone,
She smoothes her hair with automatic hand,
And puts a record on the gramophone.
“This music crept by me upon the waters”
And along the Strand, up Queen Victoria Street.
O City city, I can sometimes hear
Beside a public bar in Lower Thames Street,
The pleasant whining of a mandoline
And a clatter and a chatter from within
Where fishmen lounge at noon: where the walls
Of Magnus Martyr hold
Inexplicable splendour of Ionian white and gold.
The river sweats
Oil and tar
The barges drift
With the turning tide
Red sails
Wide
To leeward, swing on the heavy spar.
The barges wash
Drifting logs
Down Greenwich reach
Past the Isle of Dogs.
Weialala leia
Wallala leialala
Elizabeth and Leicester
Beating oars
The stern was formed
A gilded shell
Red and gold
The brisk swell
Rippled both shores
Southwest wind
Carried down stream
The peal of bells
White towers
Weialala leia
Wallala leialala
“Trams and dusty trees.
Highbury bore me. Richmond and Kew
Undid me. By Richmond I raised my knees
Supine on the floor of a narrow canoe.”
“My feet are at Moorgate, and my heart
Under my feet. After the event
He wept. He promised a ‘new start.’
I made no comment. What should I resent?”
“On Margate Sands.
I can connect
Nothing with nothing.
The broken fingernails of dirty hands.
My people humble people who expect
Nothing.”
la la
To Carthage then I came
Burning burning burning burning
O Lord Thou pluckest me out
O Lord Thou pluckest
burning
IV. Death by Water
Phlebas the Phoenician, a fortnight dead,
Forgot the cry of gulls, and the deep sea swell
And the profit and loss.
A current under sea
Picked his bones in whispers. As he rose and fell
He passed the stages of his age and youth
Entering the whirlpool.
Gentile or Jew
O you who turn the wheel and look to windward,
Consider Phlebas, who was once handsome and tall as you.
V. What the Thunder Said
After the torchlight red on sweaty faces
After the frosty silence in the gardens
After the agony in stony places
The shouting and the crying
Prison and palace and reverberation
Of thunder of spring over distant mountains
He who was living is now dead
We who were living are now dying
With a little patience
Here is no water but only rock
Rock and no water and the sandy road
The road winding above among the mountains
Which are mountains of rock without water
If there were water we should stop and drink
Amongst the rock one cannot stop or think
Sweat is dry and feet are in the sand
If there were only water amongst the rock
Dead mountain mouth of carious teeth that cannot spit
Here one can neither stand nor lie nor sit
There is not even silence in the mountains
But dry sterile thunder without rain
There is not even solitude in the mountains
But red sullen faces sneer and snarl
From doors of mudcracked houses
If there were water
And no rock
If there were rock
And also water
And water
A spring
A pool among the rock
If there were the sound of water only
Not the cicada
And dry grass singing
But sound of water over a rock
Where the hermit-thrush sings in the pine trees
Drip drop drip drop drop drop drop
But there is no water
Who is the third who walks always beside you?
When I count, there are only you and I together
But when I look ahead up the white road
There is always another one walking beside you
Gliding wrapt in a brown mantle, hooded
I do not know whether a man or a woman
—But who is that on the other side of you?
What is that sound high in the air
Murmur of maternal lamentation
Who are those hooded hordes swarming
Over endless plains, stumbling in cracked earth
Ringed by the flat horizon only
What is the city over the mountains
Cracks and reforms and bursts in the violet air
Falling towers
Jerusalem Athens Alexandria
Vienna London
Unreal
A woman drew her long black hair out tight
And fiddled whisper music on those strings
And bats with baby faces in the violet light
Whistled, and beat their wings
And crawled head downward down a blackened wall
And upside down in air were towers
Tolling reminiscent bells, that kept the hours
And voices singing out of empty cisterns and exhausted wells.
In this decayed hole among the mountains
In the faint moonlight, the grass is singing
Over the tumbled graves, about the chapel
There is the empty chapel, only the wind’s home.
It has no windows, and the door swings,
Dry bones can harm no one.
Only a cock stood on the rooftree
Co co rico co co rico
In a flash of lightning. Then a damp gust
Bringing rain
Ganga was sunken, and the limp leaves
Waited for rain, while the black clouds
Gathered far distant, over Himavant.
The jungle crouched, humped in silence.
Then spoke the thunder
DA
Datta: what have we given?
My friend, blood shaking my heart
The awful daring of a moment’s surrender
Which an age of prudence can never retract
By this, and this only, we have existed
Which is not to be found in our obituaries
Or in memories draped by the beneficent spider
Or under seals broken by the lean solicitor
In our empty rooms
DA
Dayadhvam: I have heard the key
Turn in the door once and turn once only
We think of the key, each in his prison
Thinking of the key, each confirms a prison
Only at nightfall, aethereal rumours
Revive for a moment a broken Coriolanus
DA
Damyata: The boat responded
Gaily, to the hand expert with sail and oar
The sea was calm, your heart would have responded
Gaily, when invited, beating obedient
To controlling hands
I sat upon the shore
Fishing, with the arid plain behind me
Shall I at least set my lands in order?
London Bridge is falling down falling down falling down
Poi s’ascose nel foco che gli affina
Quando fiam uti chelidon—O swallow swallow
Le Prince d’Aquitaine à la tour abolie
These fragments I have shored against my ruins
Why then Ile fit you. Hieronymo’s mad againe.
Datta. Dayadhvam. Damyata.
Shantih shantih shantih
Re: A cowboy is a lonely man
Way back when I was just a little bitty boy
Living in a box under the stairs in the corner of the basement of the house
Half a block down the street from Jerry's Bait shop
You know the place
Well, anyway, back then life was going swell and everything was just peachy!
Except, of course, for the undeniable fact that every single morning
My mother would make me a big ol' bowl of sauerkraut for breakfast
Awww, big bowl of sauerkraut!
Every single mornin'!
It was driving me crazy
I said to my mom
I said, "Hey, mom, what's up with all the sauerkraut?"
And my dear, sweet mother
She just looked at me like a cow looks at an oncoming train
And she leaned right down next to me
And she said, "It's good for you!"
And then she tied me to the wall and stuck a funnel in my mouth
And force fed me nothing but sauerkraut until I was twenty six and a half years old
That's when I swore that someday
Someday I would get outta that basement and travel to a magical, far away place
Where the sun is always shining and the air smells like warm root beer
And the towels are oh so fluffy
Where the shriners and the lepers play their ukuleles all day long
And anyone on the street will gladly shave your back for a nickel
Wacka wacka doodoo yeah!
Well, let me tell you, people, it wasn't long at all before my dream came true
Because the very next day, a local radio station had this contest
To see who could correctly guess the number of molecules in Leonard Nimoy's butt
I was off by three, but I still won the grand prize
That's right, a first class one-way ticket to
Albuquerque!
Albuquerque!
Oh yeah
You know, I'd never been on a real airplane before
And I gotta tell ya, it was really great
Except that I had to sit between two large Albanian women with excruciatingly severe body odor
And the little kid in back of me kept throwin' up the whole time
The flight attendants ran out of Dr. Pepper and salted peanuts
And the in-flight movie was Bio-Dome with Pauly Shore
And, oh yeah, three of the airplane engines burned out
And we went into a tailspin and crashed into a hillside
And the plane exploded in a giant fireball and everybody died
Except for me
You know why?
Cause I had my tray table up
And my seat back in the full upright position
Had my tray table up
And my seat back in the full upright position
Had my tray table up
And my seat back in the full upright position
Ah ha ha ha
Ah ha ha
Ahhhh
So I crawled from the twisted, burnin' wreckage
I crawled on my hands and knees for three full days
Draggin' along my big leather suitcase and my garment bag
And my tenor saxophone and my twelve-pound bowling ball
And my lucky, lucky autographed glow-in-the-dark snorkel
But finally I arrived at the world famous Albuquerque Holiday Inn
Where the towels are oh so fluffy
And you can eat your soup right out of the ashtrays if you wanna
It's okay, they're clean!
Well, I checked into my room and I turned down the A/C
And I turned on the SpectraVision
And I'm just about to eat that little chocolate mint on my pillow
That I love so very, very much when suddenly, there's a knock on the door
Well now, who could that be?
I say, "Who is it?"
No answer
"Who is it?"
There's no answer
"WHO IS IT?"
They're not sayin' anything
So, finally I go over and I open the door and just as I suspected
It's some big fat hermaphrodite with a Flock Of Seagulls haircut and only one nostril
Oh man, I hate it when I'm right
So anyway, he bursts into my room and he grabs my lucky snorkel
And I'm like, "Hey, you can't have that!
That snorkel's been just like a snorkel to me!"
And he's like, "Tough."
And I'm like, "Give it!"
And he's like, "Make me."
And I'm like, "'kay!"
So I grabbed his leg and he grabbed my esophagus
And I bit off his ear and he chewed off my eyebrows
And I took out his appendix and he gave me a colonic irrigation
Yes, indeed, you better believe it
And somehow in the middle of it all, the phone got knocked off the hook
And twenty seconds later, I heard a familiar voice
And you know what it said?
I'll tell you what it said
It said
"If you'd like to make a call, please hang up and try again;
"If you need help, hang up and then dial your operator
"If you'd like to make a call, please hang up and try again;
"If you need help, hang up and then dial your operator."
Well, to cut a long story short, he got away with my snorkel
But I made a a solemn vow right then and there that I would not rest
I would not sleep for an instant until the one-nostrilled man was brought to justice
But first, I decided to buy some donuts
So I got in my car and I drove over to the donut shop
And I walked on up to the guy behind the counter
And he says, "Yeah, what do ya want?"
I said, "You got any glazed donuts?"
He said, "No, we're outta glazed donuts."
I said, "You got any jelly donuts?"
He said, "No, we're outta jelly donuts."
I said, "You got any Bavarian cream-filled donuts?"
He said, "No, we're outta Bavarian cream-filled donuts."
I said, "You got any cinnamon rolls?"
He said, "No, we're outta cinnamon rolls."
I said, "You got any apple fritters?"
He said, "No, we're outta apple fritters."
I said, "You got any bear claws?"
He said, "Wait a minute, I'll go check
"NO, we're outta bear claws."
I said, "Well, in that case - in that case, what do you have?"
He says, "All I got right now is this box of one dozen starving, crazed weasels"
I said, "Okay, I'll take that."
So he hands me the box and I open up the lid and the weasels jump out
And they immediately latch onto my face and start bitin' me all over
Oh man, they were just going nuts
They were tearin' me apart
You know, I think it was just about that time that a little ditty started goin' through my head
I believe it went a little something like this...
Doh!
Get 'em off me!
Get 'em off me!
Oh!
No, get 'em off, get 'em off!
Oh, oh God, oh God!
Oh, get 'em off me!
Oh, oh God!
Ah, AH AH!
I ran out into the street with these flesh-eating weasels all over my face
Wavin' my arms all around and just runnin', runnin', runnin'
Like a constipated wiener dog
And as luck would have it, that's exactly when I ran into the girl of my dreams
Her name was Zelda
She was a calligraphy enthusiast with a slight overbite and hair the color of strained peaches
I'll never forget the first thing she said to me
She said, "Hey, you've got weasels on your face."
That's when I knew it was true love
We were inseparable after that
Aw, we ate together, we bathed together
We even shared the same piece of mint-flavored dental floss
The world was our burrito
So we got married and we bought us a house
And had two beautiful children - Nathaniel and Superfly
Oh, we were so very very very happy, aw yeah
But then one fateful night, Zelda said to me
She said, "Sweetie pumpkin? Do you wanna join the Columbia Record Club?"
I said, "Whoa, hold on now, baby, I'm just not ready for that kind of a commitment!"
So we broke up and I never saw her again
But that's just the way things go
Anyway, things really started lookin' up for me
Because about a week later, I finally achieved my lifelong dream
That's right, I got me a part-time job at The Sizzler!
I even made employee of the month after I put out that grease fire with my face
Aw yeah, everybody was pretty jealous of me after that
I was gettin' a lot of attitude
OK, like one time, I was out in the parking lot
Tryin' to remove my excess earwax with a golf pencil
When I see this guy Marty tryin' to carry a big ol' sofa up the stairs all by himself
So I, I say to him, I say, "Hey, you want me to help you with that?"
And Marty, he just rolls his eyes and goes
"No, I want you to cut off my arms and legs with a chainsaw."
So I did
And then he gets all indignant on me
He's like, "Hey man, I was just being sarcastic!"
Well, that's just great
How was I supposed to know that?
I'm not a mind reader for cryin' out loud
Besides, now he's got a really cute nickname: "Torso-Boy"!
So what's he complaining about?
Say, that reminds me of another amusing anecdote
This guy comes up to me on the street and says he hasn't had a bite in three days
Well, I knew what he meant
But just to be funny, I took a big bite out of his jugular vein
And he's yellin' and screamin' and bleeding all over
And I'm like, "Hey, come on, don'tcha get it?"
But he just keeps rolling around on the sidewalk, bleeding, and screaming
You know, just completely missing the irony of the whole situation
Man, some people just can't take a joke, you know?
Anyway, um, um, where was I?
Kinda lost my train of thought
Uh, well, uh, okay
Anyway I, I know it's kinda been a roundabout way of saying it
But I guess the whole point I'm tryin' to make here is:
I HATE SAUERKRAUT!
That's all I'm really tryin' to say
And, by the way, if one day you happen to wake up
And find yourself in an existential quandry
Full of loathing and self-doubt
And wracked with the pain and isolation of your pitiful meaningless existence
At least you can take a small bit of comfort in knowing that
Somewhere out there in this crazy mixed-up old universe of ours
There's still a little place called
Albuquerque
Albuquerque
Albuquerque, Albuquerque
Albuquerque, Albuquerque
Albuquerque, Albuquerque
Albuquerque, Albuquerque
I said, "A" (A)
"L"(L)
"B" (B)
"U" (U)
"...QUERQUE!" (Querque!)
Albuquerque, Albuquerque, Albuquerque, Albuquerque
Albuquerque, Albuquerque, Albuquerque, Albuquerque
Albuquerque, Albuquerque, Albuquerque, Albuquerque
Albuquerque, Albuquerque, Albuquerque, Albuquerque
Albuquerque
Living in a box under the stairs in the corner of the basement of the house
Half a block down the street from Jerry's Bait shop
You know the place
Well, anyway, back then life was going swell and everything was just peachy!
Except, of course, for the undeniable fact that every single morning
My mother would make me a big ol' bowl of sauerkraut for breakfast
Awww, big bowl of sauerkraut!
Every single mornin'!
It was driving me crazy
I said to my mom
I said, "Hey, mom, what's up with all the sauerkraut?"
And my dear, sweet mother
She just looked at me like a cow looks at an oncoming train
And she leaned right down next to me
And she said, "It's good for you!"
And then she tied me to the wall and stuck a funnel in my mouth
And force fed me nothing but sauerkraut until I was twenty six and a half years old
That's when I swore that someday
Someday I would get outta that basement and travel to a magical, far away place
Where the sun is always shining and the air smells like warm root beer
And the towels are oh so fluffy
Where the shriners and the lepers play their ukuleles all day long
And anyone on the street will gladly shave your back for a nickel
Wacka wacka doodoo yeah!
Well, let me tell you, people, it wasn't long at all before my dream came true
Because the very next day, a local radio station had this contest
To see who could correctly guess the number of molecules in Leonard Nimoy's butt
I was off by three, but I still won the grand prize
That's right, a first class one-way ticket to
Albuquerque!
Albuquerque!
Oh yeah
You know, I'd never been on a real airplane before
And I gotta tell ya, it was really great
Except that I had to sit between two large Albanian women with excruciatingly severe body odor
And the little kid in back of me kept throwin' up the whole time
The flight attendants ran out of Dr. Pepper and salted peanuts
And the in-flight movie was Bio-Dome with Pauly Shore
And, oh yeah, three of the airplane engines burned out
And we went into a tailspin and crashed into a hillside
And the plane exploded in a giant fireball and everybody died
Except for me
You know why?
Cause I had my tray table up
And my seat back in the full upright position
Had my tray table up
And my seat back in the full upright position
Had my tray table up
And my seat back in the full upright position
Ah ha ha ha
Ah ha ha
Ahhhh
So I crawled from the twisted, burnin' wreckage
I crawled on my hands and knees for three full days
Draggin' along my big leather suitcase and my garment bag
And my tenor saxophone and my twelve-pound bowling ball
And my lucky, lucky autographed glow-in-the-dark snorkel
But finally I arrived at the world famous Albuquerque Holiday Inn
Where the towels are oh so fluffy
And you can eat your soup right out of the ashtrays if you wanna
It's okay, they're clean!
Well, I checked into my room and I turned down the A/C
And I turned on the SpectraVision
And I'm just about to eat that little chocolate mint on my pillow
That I love so very, very much when suddenly, there's a knock on the door
Well now, who could that be?
I say, "Who is it?"
No answer
"Who is it?"
There's no answer
"WHO IS IT?"
They're not sayin' anything
So, finally I go over and I open the door and just as I suspected
It's some big fat hermaphrodite with a Flock Of Seagulls haircut and only one nostril
Oh man, I hate it when I'm right
So anyway, he bursts into my room and he grabs my lucky snorkel
And I'm like, "Hey, you can't have that!
That snorkel's been just like a snorkel to me!"
And he's like, "Tough."
And I'm like, "Give it!"
And he's like, "Make me."
And I'm like, "'kay!"
So I grabbed his leg and he grabbed my esophagus
And I bit off his ear and he chewed off my eyebrows
And I took out his appendix and he gave me a colonic irrigation
Yes, indeed, you better believe it
And somehow in the middle of it all, the phone got knocked off the hook
And twenty seconds later, I heard a familiar voice
And you know what it said?
I'll tell you what it said
It said
"If you'd like to make a call, please hang up and try again;
"If you need help, hang up and then dial your operator
"If you'd like to make a call, please hang up and try again;
"If you need help, hang up and then dial your operator."
Well, to cut a long story short, he got away with my snorkel
But I made a a solemn vow right then and there that I would not rest
I would not sleep for an instant until the one-nostrilled man was brought to justice
But first, I decided to buy some donuts
So I got in my car and I drove over to the donut shop
And I walked on up to the guy behind the counter
And he says, "Yeah, what do ya want?"
I said, "You got any glazed donuts?"
He said, "No, we're outta glazed donuts."
I said, "You got any jelly donuts?"
He said, "No, we're outta jelly donuts."
I said, "You got any Bavarian cream-filled donuts?"
He said, "No, we're outta Bavarian cream-filled donuts."
I said, "You got any cinnamon rolls?"
He said, "No, we're outta cinnamon rolls."
I said, "You got any apple fritters?"
He said, "No, we're outta apple fritters."
I said, "You got any bear claws?"
He said, "Wait a minute, I'll go check
"NO, we're outta bear claws."
I said, "Well, in that case - in that case, what do you have?"
He says, "All I got right now is this box of one dozen starving, crazed weasels"
I said, "Okay, I'll take that."
So he hands me the box and I open up the lid and the weasels jump out
And they immediately latch onto my face and start bitin' me all over
Oh man, they were just going nuts
They were tearin' me apart
You know, I think it was just about that time that a little ditty started goin' through my head
I believe it went a little something like this...
Doh!
Get 'em off me!
Get 'em off me!
Oh!
No, get 'em off, get 'em off!
Oh, oh God, oh God!
Oh, get 'em off me!
Oh, oh God!
Ah, AH AH!
I ran out into the street with these flesh-eating weasels all over my face
Wavin' my arms all around and just runnin', runnin', runnin'
Like a constipated wiener dog
And as luck would have it, that's exactly when I ran into the girl of my dreams
Her name was Zelda
She was a calligraphy enthusiast with a slight overbite and hair the color of strained peaches
I'll never forget the first thing she said to me
She said, "Hey, you've got weasels on your face."
That's when I knew it was true love
We were inseparable after that
Aw, we ate together, we bathed together
We even shared the same piece of mint-flavored dental floss
The world was our burrito
So we got married and we bought us a house
And had two beautiful children - Nathaniel and Superfly
Oh, we were so very very very happy, aw yeah
But then one fateful night, Zelda said to me
She said, "Sweetie pumpkin? Do you wanna join the Columbia Record Club?"
I said, "Whoa, hold on now, baby, I'm just not ready for that kind of a commitment!"
So we broke up and I never saw her again
But that's just the way things go
Anyway, things really started lookin' up for me
Because about a week later, I finally achieved my lifelong dream
That's right, I got me a part-time job at The Sizzler!
I even made employee of the month after I put out that grease fire with my face
Aw yeah, everybody was pretty jealous of me after that
I was gettin' a lot of attitude
OK, like one time, I was out in the parking lot
Tryin' to remove my excess earwax with a golf pencil
When I see this guy Marty tryin' to carry a big ol' sofa up the stairs all by himself
So I, I say to him, I say, "Hey, you want me to help you with that?"
And Marty, he just rolls his eyes and goes
"No, I want you to cut off my arms and legs with a chainsaw."
So I did
And then he gets all indignant on me
He's like, "Hey man, I was just being sarcastic!"
Well, that's just great
How was I supposed to know that?
I'm not a mind reader for cryin' out loud
Besides, now he's got a really cute nickname: "Torso-Boy"!
So what's he complaining about?
Say, that reminds me of another amusing anecdote
This guy comes up to me on the street and says he hasn't had a bite in three days
Well, I knew what he meant
But just to be funny, I took a big bite out of his jugular vein
And he's yellin' and screamin' and bleeding all over
And I'm like, "Hey, come on, don'tcha get it?"
But he just keeps rolling around on the sidewalk, bleeding, and screaming
You know, just completely missing the irony of the whole situation
Man, some people just can't take a joke, you know?
Anyway, um, um, where was I?
Kinda lost my train of thought
Uh, well, uh, okay
Anyway I, I know it's kinda been a roundabout way of saying it
But I guess the whole point I'm tryin' to make here is:
I HATE SAUERKRAUT!
That's all I'm really tryin' to say
And, by the way, if one day you happen to wake up
And find yourself in an existential quandry
Full of loathing and self-doubt
And wracked with the pain and isolation of your pitiful meaningless existence
At least you can take a small bit of comfort in knowing that
Somewhere out there in this crazy mixed-up old universe of ours
There's still a little place called
Albuquerque
Albuquerque
Albuquerque, Albuquerque
Albuquerque, Albuquerque
Albuquerque, Albuquerque
Albuquerque, Albuquerque
I said, "A" (A)
"L"(L)
"B" (B)
"U" (U)
"...QUERQUE!" (Querque!)
Albuquerque, Albuquerque, Albuquerque, Albuquerque
Albuquerque, Albuquerque, Albuquerque, Albuquerque
Albuquerque, Albuquerque, Albuquerque, Albuquerque
Albuquerque, Albuquerque, Albuquerque, Albuquerque
Albuquerque
-
- Posts: 260
- Joined: Wed Jun 18, 2014 2:15 am
Re: A cowboy is a lonely man
*digs a muddy hole*
*fucks it*
*fucks it*
Re: A cowboy is a lonely man
Gods transform me
The storm will cleanse me
Civilized I shall not be
By this holy strain of laws
I fall below the earth
I smell the ancients' breath
The fiends encircle me
They speak my name in tongues
For I'm no human now
I burn the ways conform
The gods are pleased with me
They speak my name in tongues
I am the seer
I know the texts divine
Thunder words
Demons race into my eyes.
Azazel
Lend to me your wings of twelve
I shall fly into the storm
I, son of fire, in anger become
The lightning bolts that strike the earth
The storm will cleanse me
Civilized I shall not be
By this holy strain of laws
I fall below the earth
I smell the ancients' breath
The fiends encircle me
They speak my name in tongues
For I'm no human now
I burn the ways conform
The gods are pleased with me
They speak my name in tongues
I am the seer
I know the texts divine
Thunder words
Demons race into my eyes.
Azazel
Lend to me your wings of twelve
I shall fly into the storm
I, son of fire, in anger become
The lightning bolts that strike the earth
Re: A cowboy is a lonely man
Forecast in chrome and plastic, tyrants breathing out oil, slavery, planet hunger versions of Jackie-O. Sherry, Sherry baby, won't you come out tonight. And the stars whisper like old blood at the edges of the body of night. She stood with one hand on the phone for four hours, poised as only a few seconds had passed. I watched her through the crack between the shade and the sill. She waited for a forecast in human trembling, together with other important women. Come, come, come out tonight. The world suff ers for her. The clock hurries like a terrified animal and stops, dribbling saliva. She is eating chicken pie and bubble gum. For a month the Luftwaffe lived on raisins, same with the French after the war. Jackie-O received fresh oranges from John Kennedy. Silly girl! She can not put down the telephone receiver. She is waiting to receive my body of work. She wants to take it into her ear. A modeled flush builds under her cheeks. She eats Christmas candy while she waits. The telephone rings and rings. I am not at home. I am with Jackie-O. We are eating oranges from the President. We are alone on the roof of a Park Avenue penthouse. Picture of Marilyn Monroe in my back pocket, moulded by heat and sweat to the shape of my buttocks. You are gripping the phone, smiling, eating candy, crying, "I am with the important women now." I am secretly an important man. Hang up the phone, I can't dance with you anymore. Go to your freezer and get a popsicle. Go to your TV. Turn on your TV. You will see me and Jackie-O. Sh e will be taking it in the ear, my body of work. In the planetarium, you will receive a forecast: I will always be more important than you. You will never be important enough. You will never be on the repent end of slavery, never be the one to wield hunger against humanity. Heaven will never be an extension of your body. Your body will always belong to someone else. The picture of Marilyn Monroe flutters across the roof, steaming, shaped like me, shaped like my ass. The sky is filled with oranges during t he war. We eat them. The President is alone in a room. He is unimportant. As we eat his oranges the sky grows blacker. The moon ripens and turns red. It rots and is swallowed by the darkness. You are still by the phone. It is ringing and ringing, dead. Sherry, Sherry baby, won't you come out tonight. It is completely dark. The earth freezes. You put down the receiver and go to the window. Come, come, come out tonight.