GREEN, GOLD AND RED ARE THE COLORS OF BC,

I DREAM IN GREEN.

Reality is a question of realizing how real the world is already.Time is eternityUltimate and immovable ; everyone’s an angel.Fuck the present moment, a whole lifetime is retained.

The night is a magic door Burning myself in a clubI have mystical visions and cosmic vibrations

In my hungry fatigue, and shopping for images, I went into the neon fruit super market, dreaming of your enumerations. (I touch your book and dream of our odyssey in the supermarket and feel absurd) Will we walk all night through solitary streets? The trees add shade to shade, lights out in the houses, we’ll both be lonely. I never really kissed you but something seemed lifted from your blank desolate face

Sitting here in Queens, Wanting this to happen Behind a kind of screenOr partition with tit holesEating refried beansSitting here in Queens, Plan it or be planned, Grab it, or be grabbed.When can I go to the supermarket and buy what I need with my good looks?America after all it is you and I who are perfect not the next world. Your machinery is too much for me.

You made me want to be a saint.

Souls are heavy gold bricks, flesh-toned and they shit caviar. The capitalist drink gin and whiskey on airplanes.Brains are fermented, networked, respect-loving globes

Winning fights is a sweet amount of regrettingAmerica will have to kissass Mother EarthOnly pathway to peace,kissass

At night I ruminated on the things no one should seeWaves of joy that were strong enough to be disturbingWaves rose.I never dreamed the sea so deepThe earth is so dark ;so long my sleep

Search your mind for a way to come whitout believing.Stand up against governments, against God.Stay irresponsible.Say only what we know and imagine.But most would agree one is now moving to the point of motionlessness,And we’re already far from that push-pull picture

THIS POEM HAS BEEN CONSTRUCTED FROM

The Complete Poem

A Billion And Change

+

An AsphodelA DesolationA Supermarket In CaliforniaAn Eastern BalladAmericaCosmopolitan GreetingsCrossing NationsDeath and FameFive A.MKing of May – Kral MajalesKissassMy Sad SelfPatersonSongThe Terms In Which I Think of Reality

A POEM BY

BERNADETTE CORPORATION + ALLEN GINSBERG