"Lovesoft, or Springchurch"

Ginsberg, Snyder, Whitman

Kerouac, Emerson, Cassady,


Anybody and everybody

holy you can think of with

me, meditate on love in

both dream and in song

so that we can be free.


Do not empty your mind

but surround it with a kind

of loving feather which sways

always in the warm weather.


Make it be a loving living tree

and vow to make it come with

you swiftly as if it were always

      just slightly windy.


Above all, let your heart and

body fall into wild imagination

and like a sacred space station


Let love daily fill your pink

lung tanks with the happy

blessing of breathing,

never leaving you

empty.


Come for once into love,

make it high above your

rest and sleep in subtle


Bliss

before this

language time

and exist in fine

woven cloth and

a safe tasty river

which, like

oxygen

cleans.


Beckon the sacred fruit

that gleams and wash it

all over the seams,

Constantly

breaking

as they do

into worry and

remember to continue


Until the thrill is just too

deep and you must dip

your hand into the cool

gentle waters of relief.


And do not be brief!

Let linger the salty

breeze and please,

please! do not forget


To let the

belly erase its

regret, for it is not

the sacred waist but

the temple of the

Personality!


Which saves

and dive, dive

into ecstasy as

you all finally sit

next to me and we


Sing a pure

symphony

of moments

into being.


And

when

those

precious

seconds of

record ring


Release into

dawn like the

fawn and yawn

into sweet spring.


Let us

love,

and

let us


Be

presently

aware of the

creation of

our fate,


Which

I hate to

state but

must

clearly

stipulate

we do

not

wholly

designate!


Let your body

take the shape

of love and

not hate,


Let it not

allow a killing,

for in the vital

signs of spirits

and of beer and

wine love may

shine and

is, unlike

turpentine,

the softest thing

we can possibly bring.


And if love is what

you’re holding you

are beyond a doubt


Unfolding like

turning burning

lover’s covers,

and only in the

unfolding is the

organism really


ever 

truly

living

loving.