Canto Twenty-Nine
Canto 29
Search me, O God, and know my heart
What’s in my pants a root or a branch
You’re wearing a cloak or a gown or a crown
I woke up this morning–: the blues were all round my brain
You put the rope around my neck what’s on my head
A hood or a hat my baby left me
She left me with a bag of shit once I smoked it all
I had a fit baby wanted me to get high
She wanted me to have a fit my baby left me
From Wadjet to Nekhbet comes the God on His craft
May He be whole and in good health worshipping worshipping
Hair extensions excluded henna excluded
“What we care about is culturally constructed”
For Frenchmen to feel justified for justice to be loved
The need to meditate on eternity to avoid conflicts
Song about Minnie the Moocher jung gifter und blick
With more focused tone and less vibrato in sustained lines
And what was Handel doing in England anyway anyway?
Cracked and bleeding fingertips waiting for Monday morning
Waiting for the time when no one needs the registers cleared
When bar codes aren’t obliterated fingertips’ many nerve endings
Dropping things because it hurts to hold them or anticipate the pain
When coins drop on the sidewalk or anticipate the pain
Through grates into storm pipes or anticipate the pain
Left me with some reefer, mama once I smoked it all
I had a trauma she wanted me to take her stash
So she could leave me in the trash my baby left me
Draining through the sewers rain coursing around dimes
Paralysis of my right hand’s fingers pennies
Radiated down my right arm ailment actually affects
Mud puddle pothole hear the pothole worshipping worshipping
To love the daffodil to eat the chrysanthemum
Indeterminateness lives in the ten thousand things
She left me with a hole in my head cause I smoked it all up
She left me for dead baby wanted me to get high
She wanted me to have a fit my baby left me
Waiting for the corridors to empty waiting for the streets
To fill for the parties to start worshipping worshipping
The tables with hash pipes and lava lamps taken down
The umbrella sellers shelter under awnings
Into the arcades where sprouts press water beneath gutters
Beneath the staircase Mayan blue so deep
Pigment stains my soul nineteenth dynasty gold
So strange it colors the mane the crocodile the hippo the paws
Woven cotton checks on a creamy white background
In one beast Hathor from the twenty-first dynasty
No-fuss pull-string design with a foamed cotton-blend lining
Hathor from the twenty-first dynasty Her udders
Left my ass high and dry once I smoked it all
She kissed my ass goodbye she knew I’d take her stash
So she could leave me to crash don’t let yours leave you
Lying down next to the cattails Her udders sore from feeding
The cobras WEIGHING THE HEART
Waiting for the heart to be weighed worshipping worshipping
Worshipping the taxi in Cairo hare rama
Worshipping the taxi in London hare rama
Worshipping the taxi in Berlin hare rama
Waiting for the meter to stop “you sure this feta isn’t off?”
Waiting for Anubis to stop the meter “this feta isn’t off?”
Waiting for Anubis “feta?”
Mayan blue so deep the cenotes glisten like lapis lazuli
Coal around the eyelids with brows brushed with henna
Cenotes are the GOD’s eyes w a t c h i n g u s!
Twelve secret signs He’s into you Osiris gleaming arcs of his khaibit
Eight little things that mess up your skin “this feta isn’t off?”
Swirling and curling vines and leaves embroidered over gauze
Osiris gleaming arcs of His khaibit stretching toward Jung
Stretching to Jesus stretching to canals on Mars
Cattails along the water red red red against the Mayan blue
Like red aertery against blue vaein or vice versa
Twelve secret signs She’s into you
Eight little things that mess up your skin worshipping worshipping
Woven cotton checks on a creamy white background
Woodland inspired Jacobean floral worshipping worshipping
There is no god but God twelve secret signs He’s into you
Subjected to a particularly frightening series of symptoms
Waiting for the time to come waiting for Friday night
Hand washing, slicing onions, kneading bread, holding a hot cup of tea
From Wadjet to Nekhbet comes the God on Her craft
Don’t be juking all Her trash once you smoke it all
She’ll leave with all Her cash or She’ll leave with all Her cash
“Once the whole is divided, the parts need names”
The ability to look at the craft unsympathetically
To see the elements of the craft to classify the elements
To introspect the craft in terms of these classifications
To judge one’s own emotional response to the craft
In terms of these classifications to use the terms
When introspecting oneself to use oneself as craft
The ability to look at oneself unsympathetically
See the social outcry my baby my baby my baby
Mud puddle pothole hear the pothole
Know the bus doors as they spurt open then grasp
Their hand-holds the need for France to be brave
Don’t stray from the path my baby my baby my baby
Indeterminateness lives in the ten thousand things
The nameless lives at once and never why god
The nameless lives forever in Calais lies a jungle
Young man goes to see the master of the jungle
Don’t stray from the path my baby my baby my baby
How does the sin-eater sustain himself with chunks
Of bread unless plenty of souls are striving why god
When there are plenty of saints to worship why god
When the king has a thought to worship the ship of state
Must the people be rampant in ash my baby my baby my baby
The people stream forward into the smoke or crawl from the mist
The people sail through the fog why god
J Keats s/d “I hate the world: it batters too much the wings
Of my self-will” my baby my baby my baby
“Don’t let my husband catch us here” white terror
The need for France to be brave “What was Handel doing?”
Fermentation was the miracle preceding refrigeration
“I ain’t got nobody for to feel my pain” why god
Caves in the sea’s cliffs lit by candles white terror
Pines wavering Mary and Semele and Martha
Depression is the life-force preceding rationalism or rationalism
Even Chaucer had gas–even Venus had gas–und der Budda?
Sliced off his eyelids to be awake then lids became sinensis sinensis
Or maybe something like that crazy tree in The Fountain?
I give easement and rest now to thee, dear man– come not down
The lanes or in our meadows and for thy peace I pawn my own soul
