Issue 35, Fall 1965
Evening Poem – 31 oct. '64
Peace out on the land—even if it’s
Halloween, and the spirits out
walking on the land, kids
in their masks, cops—it is so quiet
in the long fogged park
they are gone into the wood, into the trees’
bark, into the grass—
the lake water light holds
who the lover might be—to see
centuries—in the mirror of my toaster
in the dark kitchen I light a match
and see it go out, bum dark and glow—
the match light in the water—
What lover? I am gone halfway already
into the trees’ wood or the lake,
Caught blood pumping in the veins of my hand
is the same wave ripple by this shore
here, last night, every night. I would give
away anything of myself, then, and to whomever I meet
or know at all. Love, torn up body,
old jacking off or unable to touch it, unable
to go touch the loved body, it is
finally gone into the mind’s back sight, behind the eyes,
kept—while I go on
lost into the things and beings of the world.
but the ones I already know
walk out, and speak, and are seen?
I imagine a room across town,
that is empty.
I see my own empty apartment.
And I go out, as in tomorrow
morning I will go in fact,
tonight into the park, lapped
into the streamed fog,
hanging my arms and walking,
as the eucalyptus leaves hang, the trees walk,
streamed, hung with the fog.