Naked On Nauset Beach - 1972 - HIlde Me and the Atlantic

In the early 70s
Below the ridege of dune
Hilde and me
Stood on Nauset's nude beach
The two of us
Me 20 lean and young
She eighteen blonde skin more burnt than tanned
Hippies not yet punks__
A thick ledge of wet seaweed
Covered the high tide mark.
Off with our clothes
We lay on the cool green algae
Our bare bodies sinking beneath the sludge
Comforted by the endless ocean
The two us silent
Seagulls squatted at the high tide mark
Never within arm's reach
We lay down to be one
To make love
Hippie love
Young love___
After we rise
Like seals from the seal
Naked to the elements
Wiping the seaweed
Off each other
Free
We both laugh
Skin blue-green as the cold Atlantic__
Eyes meet
Understand
We all come from the sea__
The two of us run into the ocean
Water
To be embraced by Neptune
The waves
Cold as ice
Cold as the once immortal Glacier
Rising over the continental shelf
Over a mile high
Gone today
Gone for thousands of years
Melted into the Ocean
Its green expanse
Clean as melted ice__
Hilde and me
Forever young for now
Hippies not yet punks
1972

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BLOOD AND MUSCLES @ CBGBs - 1978

1978
The Hell’s Angels frequented CBGBs.
A rough Bowery bar.
No one challenged their claim
To the punk rock venue.
The Angels scared off other asshole bikers
Although not every night.
The Cramps first played to a packed house
Garage rock fans and some Jersey bikers.
The Cramps
Rocking,
As if the world was diving into the sun tomorrow.
I Was a Teenage Werewolf, Strychnine, The Way I Walk.
My hillbilly girlfriend hip-shimmying
Head banging
Dear Alice
A hillbilly Alice she was
Baptized by moonshine
At a West Virginia home
Not far from the coal-mining hollows.
She as hillbilly
As it gets in New York
She loved the Cramps.
During the encore
two Jersey biker chicks jumped the stage
Obviously go-go dancers
Tramps in the best sense of the word.
James Chance, a man of danger
Joined them biker sluts
Fondling their stripper breasts.
Their boyfriends in the front row.
The saxist stuck out his tongue.
The girls thought him funny.
Not so the bikers.
They jumped onto the stage.
Chance's skin and bones versus the bikers’ motorcycle muscle.
A solid right cracked Chance's nose.
Blood spurt onto a dirty white shirt
A b-movie actor scrambled on the stage
To rescue his skinny friend.
Eric Mitchell.
The half-Cherokee stepped between the biker and Chance.
The band played another chorus of Surfing Bird.
This was CBGBs.
Alice grabbed my arm.
"Not your fight."
The biker looped a slow overhead right.
His fist loudly impacted on the actor’s nose.
A crack louder than the Surfing Bird
Blood splattered everywhere.
Merv the bouncer threw out the bikers.
They left without a struggle.
The 6-6 doorman
A punk version of the Addams Family’s Lurch.
Even the Angels feared Merv.
The next night Eric entered the bar
A black eye.
Chance sported a double badge of honor.
That night the two
Everyone’s darlings,
Because at CBGBS
There was never any shame in losing.

Foto by Andrey Armyagov

BAD MOTELS - BAD POETRY September 1978

Crossing the country
On the I-10
The old US 66
I mostly slept in speeding cars
Huddled against the door
Hoping the driver wasn't a murderer
Or that his destination lay beyond the dawn__
Sometimes the ride ended nowhere
Tonight past Winslow Arizona
A few hours after midnight The rancher exited north on Route 99 That road bled off into darkness To a blacker than black horizon I get out The pickup drives away
Taillights dying in the night
Without a light in sight.
I tramped up to the empty highway
Sand crunched beneath my boots,
So far from the cities, and even towns
The Milky Way illuminates the blackness
Magic of the road
And I was happy
To cast a shadow from the headlights
A semi-trailer heading west to Gallup, New Mexico Flagstaff, Arizona, don't forget Winona Kingman, Barstow, San Bernardino
Chuck Berry
I-90 tracing its path
Over the old Route 66__
Oh, the old asphalt highway
I remember it well outside Gallup
Happy to roll on the roads
Of America
Until I met you
On the PCH
With the sun
Bouncing a golden sunset
Aginst the Santa Cruz hills
A Santa Cruz woman in a convertible Porsche
A 911
Top down
Our eyes both blue
Asking a drifter to settle down
And all drifters dream of a soft bed__
Her name Sharon
Her home in a grove of redwoods
Scented of flowers and perfume
To lay close under sheets listening to Joni Mitchell
Not 'Urge for Going'
'California
Whispering,
I say in your ear "I will not leave."
Sharon smiles
"All drifters drift."
True
"But I'm only I'm drifting to you."
Happy to be off the road
All drifters are
Once and a while__

Montauk # 27

An Autumn Afternoon
Sitting on a bench
A simple pleasure
Watching seagulls
Not gliding
No wind
Wings beating
Away from the Atlantic
Montauk Lake bound
Free
As am I
An old hippie hobo
Lost on the wind___

According to the Easthampton Star between the Shinnecock Inlet and Montauk Point, there's a chance to see the Bonaparte's gull, Iceland gull, glaucous gull, lesser black-backed gull, and even black-headed gull. I only spot the herring gull, which dine on fluke and sea bass, but also shellfish and smaller birds. When the whales are breaching in their fishing herds, the gulls peck at the whales, fearlessly snacking on the large sea mammals. They gather in groups, very protective of their space. I always approach them at an angle, yet they are aware of mt presence. Clever are the gulls. Also monogamous.

"As I watched the seagulls, I thought, That's the road to take; find the absolute rhythm and follow it with absolute trust." - Nikos Kazantzakis

Den's Rice Fields

No one works the paddies anymore. The old gave up the game. Enough Work like slaves. Good season, Bad season. Always the last baht in the pocket. Never the first. Work sunrise. Sunset. Breaking back Breaking feet Come home at night The radio on Playing Luk Thong. A good day Today. Children's bellies full Wife smiling Happy And a bottle of lao khao To celebrate The end of the day Happy Chai yo!!!a

Journal Entry - January 31, 1979 - East Village

People White, Black, Yellow, Oriental, Occidental, African, Inuit A billion of us times four Mostly faceless The great unknown Waiting.... Where is the Messiah? Moses, Jesus, Buddha, Mohammad Hitler Blood, death,Belief Washing across the Globe For the past, present, and future. No, no, no, no Saviours last a weekend, a month and then assassination Demonic Murder by the 'Them' None of them reincarnated To die and then live again relive, reborn, redie, and then again Where are the messiahs?