Christ, it took my breath away— I saw myself running straight Down the street in my birthday suit— Before I could say you’re making a mistake, Straightaway they bore me off, babbling Just you wait and see, I’ll be back Dressed to kill another day.
Talking of rolling heads and naked babbling seers in baskets --
Comes the time when it’s later and onto your table the headwaiter puts the bill, and very soon after rings out the sound of lively laughter—
Picking up change, hands like a walrus, and a face like a barndoor’s, and a head without any apparent size, nothing but two eyes—
So that’s you, man, or me. I make it as I can, I pick up, I go faster than they know—
Out the door, the street like a night, any night, and no one in sight, but then, well, there she is, old friend Liz—
And she opens the door of her cadillac, I step in back, and we’re gone. She turns me on—
There are very huge stars, man, in the sky, and from somewhere very far off someone hands me a slice of apple pie, with a gob of white, white ice cream on top of it, and I eat it—
Slowly. And while certainly they are laughing at me, and all around me is racket of these cats not making it, I make it
Talking of rolling heads and naked babbling seers in baskets --
ReplyDeleteComes the time when it’s later
and onto your table the headwaiter
puts the bill, and very soon after
rings out the sound of lively laughter—
Picking up change, hands like a walrus,
and a face like a barndoor’s,
and a head without any apparent size,
nothing but two eyes—
So that’s you, man,
or me. I make it as I can,
I pick up, I go
faster than they know—
Out the door, the street like a night,
any night, and no one in sight,
but then, well, there she is,
old friend Liz—
And she opens the door of her cadillac,
I step in back,
and we’re gone.
She turns me on—
There are very huge stars, man, in the sky,
and from somewhere very far off someone hands me a slice of apple pie,
with a gob of white, white ice cream on top of it,
and I eat it—
Slowly. And while certainly
they are laughing at me, and all around me is racket
of these cats not making it, I make it
in my wicker basket.
Robert Creeley: A Wicker Basket
Dressed to kill: wonderful.
ReplyDeleteZambaras/Creeley - weaving that off-kilter beauty.
Creeley shows us what to look for and how it should be done whereas "The Squint-eyed Kid" needs to have his mind's eye examined again.
ReplyDelete