by Alice Notley
Issue no. 56 (Spring 1973)
The havoc-caused
soul occurs not
recovers yet the
treatment bought
with submission
fiddles and
caricatures contains nothing but
heal intoxication
(courage is in-
toxication) wide
& embedded
stalactite and
fall of snow... so
He winds a sheet around me
which must be sarong & song
He asks can I protect myself
I say I'm aware of my self-
inviolability he says
he means can I grease a car
for everyone must run a race
in the body's own running place
Running's itself's pure pleasure
I begin to overtake myself
and suddenly I was first
at the end of the race
along with everyone else
For we are all in college to learn to Marry:
the winding dragon of night
and horses of day and humming-
birds motes of light and the
dragon of the night:
in black dress will be the lady
in a silver vest or it's black
against which looms the lighter
black tree loom.
One steps
on a rusty nail, disbelieves
in lockjaw one thinks forever without a thought
telephone poles & railroad tracks
the same and the same and the
same silver clack telephone wires the
luminous lines of the world
on which I walk
bare feet in fog
foggy-footed spider See
the spider toe-dance on its
tender tendril legs across
my hand shimmering mote
with room comfort room service
silver artifice & uprightness
an arrow's a lily a lily's an arrow
blank blank yellow & red blank
...I weep I read novels
Someday I'll count all your freckles
bagatelles of transient experience
A different one always dies
whose name seems forgotten a sacred
thread blows away
my rags of righteousness
are all your heroism your social charm your
wit your victories on land
on sea?
Style he says is the ultimate morality
of mind
Stick cinnamon is 84 cents
O Turmeric
of use in mustard chow-chow piccalilli
sauces where the color the COLOR
yellow is thought desireable!
for that is life, to blaze with color.
One ignores the gossip
rounds the turn
dances & ducks & jabs
& Bites the Blade. Pleasant days.
There's a tone-free bullet
Someone cycles away
something strums
not tree not airplane
not seen
I stop
not entirely to pieces
I flow
in litter of sunflower seeds.
"The whole path of a material particle
between any limits of time must achieve some
perfection worthy
of the providence of God"
Everything I have has an earwig in it
which will make light of sacred things,
a genuine form being seen
a light and things
some kisses being exchanged
amid the whirl of the maddening dance.
Joy now is high-wire joy.
