to William S Burroughs

in the cosmos
there’s always a math.
one vein to feel it all.
at the Bowery something started,
a nest for a vulture’s egg
that saved a world.
beloved that you are to many
more who can receive.
pain can come to anyone
i know you and you know me.
time at the tip of a barrel.
time at the tip of a pen.
can you see through the
fog of eternity and the sands
in the raw?
so vulnerable and delicate
to love of no despair.
one more tonic for the body
at last my love can rest.

birth and death in august

when time collects the bag

it has to be in august.

b and i came into it,

w and j left out of it.

the Sanskrit glows on sacred

bricks. the faces, the silence;

crystalized into three ages.

chainlink thorns on sides made

of pain.

black heads blue eyes

to the east lays paradise.

to the west blue dreams

dunked into the black ocean.

mother crowned you prince with bone splints,

but father did not sup with you.

courtly sun king alone out loud;

in a dream that no one’s seen.

once you went to sleep

your soul did not recover.

no blood dies at 700,

early in the new world.

oh heart of hearts,

your star hangs above the floor.

third age in youth you left,

the somber august came in haste.

to Jean-Michel Basquiat