Cento for Harlan from Padgett, Lamantia, Corso, & Berrigan
there appears the image of the man
Of greenlit panic and jellied fiascos
Thoroughbreds and workhorses flat on their sides
To beef up on top of speeding ills. Three
eyes fixed on the knob, where a runaway stream came whooshing
In a flash of golden ice
It is disastrous to be a wounded deer
Is a beautiful piece of work in that it
Flares up the petals of a tulip when
His lair conceives my heart
So what good am I?
Mine is Luke Skywalker and his parts
the man whose bottom line is changing its color
Is spread out on a table of green water
This scatter of feet drops into the sea
Go fly my dears, go fly, I’m in the weather
Cento for Harlan from Padgett, Lamantia, Corso, & Berrigan
going to have to fall, & burn again
In a time-weighed fishbowl of the vertical act
I have seen many paintings of this
and thought “What if I went crazy for a moment?”
Cold rosy dawn in New York City
A city of escape hatches —
visioned lots of times while walking
to where another part of town was waiting
the Wookie part; the Landro Part; the Han dynasty;
To the flatlands by the hills of Suum Nar
on every Cambridge corner
I remember what a lowly worm I am
And I am the Lord, and owner
Of the sun’s new infancy
and shook a young girl’s laughter
It is almost unbearable