NAROPA BOYFRIENDS
______________________
Naropa Boyfriends
Boulder Diary
How I Write Poetry &
Who I Learned From
Writing Poems
Family Portrait
Scrap Book
Another Day
Julius My Brother
Mirror
Morning Poem
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NAROPA BOYFRIENDS
“nothing like a hot dish
of warm lips”
—Peter Orlovsky
CLEAN ASSHOLE POEMS
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Naropa a big Marketplace—
everybody is writing poetry
Allen says to his classes—
poetry is by itself nothing
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I’m always at the mercy—
of cute young Rimbaud boys
I know what that means—
the great come-on routine
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All these young guys—
hangin around Allen
Each night in Boulder—
goin to bed with some kid
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BOULDER DIARY
“Talk we Split it’s—
all right, goin ways”
—Peter Orlovsky
CLEAN ASSHOLE POEMS
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Allen’s apartment becomes—
a youth hostel every night
They want to get in bed—
with the great queer poet
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It’s okay with me cause—
I’ve been there done that
It’s okay with me cause—
by now it’s all pretty boring
___________
I’m not turned on by—
Allen’s old ugly cock
Young guys can do him—
I could give a shit
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They’re not interested—
in poetry just being famous
“Look at me, I went to bed—
with the great poet Ginsberg!”
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HOW I WRITE POETRY &
WHO I LEARNED FROM
“In 1957 Paris hotel room
I wrote my first 2 poems”
—Peter Orlovsky
CLEAN ASSHOLE POEMS
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I learned from Allen—
to always write it down
Always carry a notebook—
so you can drop it on paper
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I get a kick jotting down—
spontaneous flashes
Corso taught me to recognize—
funny speech word idea combos
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Catullus natural talk about love—
Rimbaud for lightening action
Lorca for finding my duende—
WC Williams for reality track
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Allen for spontaneous verse—
“First word, best word”
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WRITING POEMS
“Writing poems is
a sacred thing”
—Peter Orlovsky
CLEAN ASSHOLE POEMS
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Writing poems scary business—
sacred & yet profane too
A diary or a novel—
would make a lot more sense
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One family all I ever want to know—
what good another soap opera?
The same old memory ramblings—
another bunch of normal lies
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To breathe is just to sigh—
roll my eyes is all I can do
Rain & snow my only clock—
watching it thru the window
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Grinding my teeth for lack of love—
the world a cold stove cathedral
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FAMILY PORTRAIT
“I love the foot steps—
of my family when
they walk thru the
house at night”
—Peter Orlovsky
CLEAN ASSHOLE POEMS
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I don’t like sorrow to hang—
down from my family tree
So I try to visit them—
as much as I can
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I’m just a nameless asshole—
but they’re still my family
Looking into each other’s loopy eyes—
it’s sad but still we’re still here
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Old age is a heart stab—
see what it does to faces?
No wonder they pull down—
the window shades so that
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None of the neighbors—
can see what I see
All families are the same—
it’s just so fuckin sad
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SCRAP BOOK
“beauty lies deep like
the little speck of dirt”
—Peter Orlovsky
CLEAN ASSHOLE POEMS
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Heaven’s closet—
what’s in there anyway?
I use my teeth and fingers—
to pry it open, saliva dripping
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My broken fingernails—
flinging the closet door open
Spooks spillin out—
a rush of rumors too
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What did I think was—
in there anything to know?
Then he comes out—
my idiot kid brother Julius
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ANOTHER DAY
“a hungry rose cloud
will eat us up”
—Peter Orlovsky
CLEAN ASSHOLE POEMS
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The smiling shadow—
in my broken heart is
An unseen face—
hidden in some clay
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Always a little stillness—
when I stop and think
What am I all about—
standing, sitting here alone?
____________
A monument to fate is—
being erected in my pants
Getting on the bus—
everybody sees it
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JULUS MY BROTHER
“No tears for Julius tonight
brother that left me young”
—Peter Orlovsky
CLEAN ASSHOLE POEMS
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He’s only 18—
goodlooking with a mop of hair
Gone, gone down the road—
such a strange crazy kid
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He sits alone in the corner—
that faraway look in his eyes
I’ve worked in mental hospitals—
know the gloomy horror of it
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At least he’s home with mother—
even tho she’s a zombie too
It runs in our family—
years pass, it just gets worse
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MIRROR
“All I need is a mirror
for the rest of my life”
—Peter Orlovsky
CLEAN ASSHOLE POEMS
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Shaving in the morning—
my hairy ugly werewolf face
My eyes just empty holes—
only hoping to understand
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Blinking neon sign shines—
down thru my bedroom window
Reminding me once again—
life is just a Grade-B movie
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My life here in NYC—
another American beatnik
Thank god I’m not a hustler—
selling my bod on Times Square
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MORNING POEM
“Morning again,
nothing has to
be done”
—Peter Orlovsky
CLEAN ASSHOLE POEMS
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Morning comes—
don’t feel like doin nothin
Maybe I’ll write a poem—
or let a poem write me
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Time for another joint—
let the show begin
There’s this elevator—
from my bed to the floor
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Isn’t that paradise—
your own dream room-land?
PETER ORLOVSKY
“Realize big difference
between me & Allen—
he has such far verbal
poetry image—I get
high thro feeling”
—Peter Orlovsky
CLEAN ASSHOLE POEMS
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I never did get off much—
on Naropa & all that shit
So my toe would curl—
and become a snail
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Then going curiously—
on its own way
One room is all—
I’ll ever know
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One bed plus—
memory ramblings
Writing poems such—
a lonely act
ALLEN GINSBERG (1926-2007)
http://www.youtube.com/watch?v=EQt3NeExDXM
The Buddhists swarmed—
around his dead body
Busy doing their tacky—
dharma rebirth routines
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Allen could meditate—
for hours & hours
Some stupid boulder—
doing his meditation trick
__________
The only problem was—
coming down from there
He’d be horny as hell—
chicken in the SAFEWAY
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So much for NAROPA—
getting off in Boulder
Despite all the Poetics—
all that Spontaneous Shit
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There was only one thing—
Neil Cassidy’s fine bod
Even butchy Kerouac—
fell in love with Neil
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Denver laments eternally—
Neil Cassidy its Male Diva
There’s nothing quite—
like that young Stud cock
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Fag poets aren’t any—
different than anybody else
Cassidy the cute Cowboy—
his true Story yet to be told
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It’s the Story of America—
back then in the Fifties
It’s something even now—
that haunts all of us
__________
But they’re all gone now—
Allen was one of the last
Burroughs in Kansas—
with his shotguns & cats
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This is how it happens—
Literary movements live
They shoot their wads—
America craves their cum
THE TALKING ASSHOLE
“Did I ever tell you about the man
who taught his asshole to talk?”
—William Burroughs, NAKED LUNCH
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Did I ever tell you about the man—
who taught his asshole how to talk?
Actually it was the other way around—
his asshole taught him to talk instead
_____________
He was really good at it—
farting away grand speeches on TV
It was unlike anything ever heard—
or smelled before such a shitty syntax!!!
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His asshole talked with such fluency—
his colon was tres intelligentsia
He worked for this traveling carnival—
at first a novelty ventriloquist act
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After awhile he started talking to himself—
his ass would ad lib & toss out gags
But his asshole got bored with all that—
eating through his pants out on the street
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Shouting out it wanted equal rights—
all pouty & puckered up in farting jags
Bitching that nobody loved it & wanted—
to be kissed like any other pair of lips
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The guy couldn’t stop his talking asshole—
it went on & on ranting day and night
You could hear it for blocks away—
people screaming for it to shut the fuck up
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The guy threatened his asshole saying—
I’ll stick a fucking dildo in you, then what?
You’re the one that’s gonna shut up—
the talking asshole said back to the guy
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I don’t need you anymore because—
I can talk and eat and SHIT if I want to!!!
After that the dildo shut him up good—
but when the guy had to shit, WATCH OUT!!!
________________
So anyway, the talking asshole shut up—
cause one thing it needed was a pair of eyes
It trapped the guy though one day—
getting an organ transplant on the sly
_________________
Viola!!! The first talking asshole with an eye—
It walks!!! It talks!!! It can even see!!!
That’s when the asshole squeezed its cheeks—
and ran for an office in local politics
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It started out just being Mayor of Shitville—
but you know ambitious Assholes can be…
Jaysus christ, pretty soon he was on TV—
CNN & FOX-News went hog-wild over him
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He even stooped to conquer—
letting Rachel Maddow kiss his lips
Lady Gaga couldn’t wait to finger him—
getting her forefinger all the way up there
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He bit it off with his razor hemorrhoid teeth—
Justin Bieber was gonna be fuckin next
The end result was simply horrifying—
all the world’s assholes suddenly revolted
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A whole new bourgeois bunghole Bureaucracy—
had to be quickly invented right then & there
No time for any more dithering diarrhea—
after all, who’d been sitting there forever?
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There on the THRONE day after day—
Kings, queens, peons, the usual gangsters
But who really knew the fine red line—
between life and death at the final end?
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It was the worldly humble meek Asshole—
constantly taking care of the dirty shit
Empires come & go, States collapse—
but it’s the Asshole who rules in the end
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Proud & tall & built like old Shit-houses—
lonely out there on the lonely prairies
Prim & proud, sleek marble rims for the—
Emperor Caligula’s fine wicked tender ass
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Ah yes, it’s an altogether different history—
once you start seeing things differently
So you ask me whatever happened—
to this guy’s troublesome Talking Asshole?
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Listen closely, cause I’ll only fart this once—
it’s tres secret and truly hush-hush
Welcome to my ASSHOLE PLANET—
guess who sits on the Throne now?
CUT-UP POETICS
http://www.gotpoetry.com/Sections/op=viewarticle/artid=23.html
“Members of Burroughs’s “Beat” generation
had drifted from place to place, always moving
and their writing was similarly disjointed.”
—Sarah Smarsh, It Happened in Kansas
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So it only makes sense that Burroughs’—
writing and visual art deal with motion
Setting paint flying at explosive speed—
one way of doing motion on canvas
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Sitting there in Lawrence—
and writing it is one thing
But trying to write what’s moving—
that’s a totally different artform
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Old representational methods—
didn’t work with Kansas landscapes
He turned to cut-up collages—
a new narrative technique was needed
DARK CARNIVAL
There’s no need for any memoirs—
since when does Hollywood care?
Los Angeles a heartless bitch—
just ask Bela Lugosi, my dears
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Bela fell for Ed Woods of course—
offered the chance to star again
Who gave a fuck if it was cheesy—
BRIDE OF THE MONSTER?
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Actors need to act to live—
it’s the lifeblood of filmic gods
Gods of the Silver Screen—
the only Immortality we have
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Observe us at any Film Palace—
but there are none of them left
We live again only alone—
like very old vintage wine
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We need Hollywood no longer—
we exist now in the Night
Look at me Tod Browning—
sitting in front of my TV
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Alone in my beach-house—
late at night on Monica Beach
Watching late movies—
preferably old horror ones
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We directors make movies—
like Billy Wilder and Huston
But I was unique—
I created you FREAKS
MALIBU
—for Tod Browning
No one knows the darkness—like I do. There is only one darkness—the darkness of the NIGHT.
It creeps up on you—in the Night. Like tonight here on Monica Beach—hear the waves?
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The waves—children of the Night. Hissing and curling—up onto the lonely beach.
Hear them? Don’t be afraid—
It’s only a late TV night horror show
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Perhaps you’ve seen my work?—
Forgotten by Hollywood Babylon
There was a time when I created—
DRACULA with Bela Lugosi
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We set the standard for horror—
Universal Films born because of us
Boris Karloff just a fucking hack—
I was the Transylvania Queen Bee
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Evil Incarnate through Browning—
I took over Hollywood just like that
Ever since then they’ve been singing—
Marlene Dietrich cabaret swan songs
FLINT HILLS EVENING
“The shadow crawls
up canyon walls”
—Badger Clark
“The Sky Blue Plains,”
SUN AND SADDLE LEATHER
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The Flint Hills evening—
comes slowly down ravines
The rim rocks flush pink—
crawling night shadows
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The cottonwood leaves—
quiver shiver like me
Do they anticipate—
what I know will happen?
_____________
The wind break sways—
knows what night brings
The Flint Hills get still—
more blue shadows come
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After dinner we smoke—
drink some Johnny Walker
The stillness out there—
singing the same old song
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Blow out kerosene lamp—
then to bed together
If only I say to myself—
it’ll be this way forever
GAY COWBOY POETRY
He was hard to get to know—
but then that’s the way it was
The harder the better—
a quiet kind of prairie love
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Mostly just him & me driving—
out there on Kansas nights
Bought me a nice Stetson hat—
a pair of expensive boots
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I never made a decent cowboy—
he didn’t seem to mind tho
He wanted somebody to—
know & love him way out there
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OUT THERE different than—
livin in town back home
I can’t even describe it—
it’s like livin on the moon
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Cowboy songs comin up from—
OK City on the radio
Cowboy commaraderie—
him & me out there
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Turnin me on to country music—
comin up from Oklahoma City
Hank Williams especially—
YOUR CHEATIN HEART
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Out there in his ranch-house—
quiet Chase County nights
Kinda spooky like Z-Bar Mansion—
listenin to prairie wind outside
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Lived with him for a year—
stoic Kansas cowboy dude
Rented the range out to—
young ranchers with families & kids
GAY COWBOY POETRY 2
http://www.youtube.com/watch?feature=fvwp&NR=1&v=lUV4PGtr-7A
Anyway sittin here havin a drink—
floatin kinda high right now
Ya know, reminiscin' about it—
him on my mind
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Poetry I suppose cause—
it seems less I don’t know what
Chase County cowboy romance—
kinda like BROKEBACK MOUNTAIN
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Here on his ranch outise Strong City—
Jaysus, I loved him so really bad
The son of a rich cattleman—
catchin my eye in high school
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Drivin his Chevy pickup—
his blue corduroy FFA jacket
Always lookin so butch comin—
down the hallway bowlegged
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Still riding his horse out there—
Chase County butch kid
Lanky & shy, hangin out with—
his FFA buddies across the street
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Over in the Vocational Ed Bldg—
doin gawd knows what
Workin with cars, engines—
Stuff country boys do
STRONG CITY
I didn’t much want to—
but like I couldn’t help it
Him waitin for me—
in his Chevy pickup truck
___________
Waitin for me there in—
the high school parking lot
Smokin a cigarette—
after all that boring shit
____________
The shit they put us thru—
punchin a fuckin clock
Gettin us ready for it—
shitty working class crap
___________
There I stood lookin—
at him like I always did
He didn’t look away—
he said “Get in, baby”
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We drove west outta—
town real slow on Sixth
Hank Williams on the—
radio from OK City
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Suddenly I realized—
I was never gonna
Gonna be the same—
not with him anyway
__________
Out past Hwy 50—
past the Truck Stop
He reached over—
grabbed my leg
___________
Jaysus christ I—
fainted then & there
Talk about angels—
descendin' outta heaven
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I was ready for it—
some wings to fly
Ready for anything—
he wanted me to be