Thursday, October 24, 2019


~ Look What Came In The Morning Mail ~

Somewhere in the Stream
Duncan McNaughton
Blue Press
126 Washburn Ave.
Santa  Cruz, CA


Hocus Locus Focus.      Pocus

Back in the 20th century he

was dating a chorine on the side, he'd

meet her at the stage door with an armful.

So he was blooey for a girl with shapely

legs, so buttons. Of florigens. From Brooklyn.

Dating in the sense that made sense back in

those days, radio sense in the carbon

sense on the bedside table. No remote,

nothing clamorous, nothing to get to

the point of, other than the two Jacks.

Kerouac was Bob, Spicer, Ray. Live on

The Great Black Way, as live as Kafka's ears,

Cocteau's smoke rings, Mayakovsky's, for

example, ascot. After they'd hunted

down Guevara and mutilated his

corpse — well, he couldn't get to sleep with her,

he couldn't get to sleep without her. Nets

kept him awake, the passions of heroes.


Barrientes Barbie