Pounding Allen

Allen Ginsberg and Ezra Pound. The old and the new. The racist and the Buddhist met in Italy. Many people have told this story. This is my version.

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High High High Hare

Queen Jane visits uncle Ez
In Venice.

Playing Sad Eyed Lady of the Lowlands
For him.

1967 
Viet Nam
    A dozen or less
    Months afore 
    Police riot
    Daley windy city.

Who prophets from War?
Cherchez la cash...

Depressed
    Down. Silent.
    Sad. What is a life?
    A handful of 
    Moments, maybe a chiler 
    Or twain.

    What is a life?
    A gutful of lies.
    A phraud.

Very sad to look back...
Il poeta
Too late
Too late...
    I arrived 
    The certainty 
    I know nothing.

He rolled a spliff
She called him
    A big lovable dog
    Hairy with sloppy kisses.
Want to wash your hands?
Do you need any money?
He replied.
    And he passed on the pot.

Hare Hare
Krishna Krishna
    Deepening
The sorrow
    Fading aquamarine.

And after all this 
I understand I am 
A MORON.

Follow the money.
NOT the jews (not Naomi).
Stupid suburban prejudice.
But...
    Follow the money.
    Who profits from war?
    Bankers Usurers Parasites.

War
Profit
Litany.

...or shells fragmented to 1000s
Of flesh piercing needles.