Fromming Our Feelers

HOW TO MEDITATE
—Jack Kerouac

—lights out—
fall, hands clasped, into instantaneous
ecstasy like a shot of heroin or morphine,
the gland inside of my brain discharginig
the good glad fluid (Holy Fluid) as
I hap-down and hold all my body parts
down to a deadstop trance—Healing
of my sicknesses—erasing all—not
even the shred of a "I-hope-you" or a
Loony Balloon left in it, but the mind
blank, serene, thoughtless. When a thought
comes a-springing from afar with its held-
forth figure of image, you spoof it out,
you spuff it off, you fake it, and
it fades, and thought never comes—and
with joy you realize for the first time
"Thinking's just like not thinking—
So I don't have to think
any
more."

_________________________

SITTING UNDER TREE NUMBER TWO
—Jack Kerouac

But the undrawables,
the single musical harp
rainbow's blue green
shimmer of a cobweb—
the line of a thread swimming
in the wind, blue &
silver at intervals that
appear & disappear—
7 songe along the rim
tying to the plant
as birds twurdle over
those massy fort trees
populous with song
—imaginary blossoms in my
eye moving across the
page with definite oily
rainbow water holes &
rims of beaten gold,
with toads of old
silver.
Golden fast ant back
in the hay now fromming
its feelers thru the
thicket of time then
darting across mud looking
for more trees—
A little ant bit my ass
& I said Eeesh with
my wad of gum— I
itch & pain all over
with hate of time
tedium. Save me!
Kill me!

________________________

Thanks, Jack!

Kids wanted! Snakelets, the journal of poetry from kids 0-12, has a deadline coming up OCTOBER 1, and we desperately need poems! Send whatever you have to 4708 Tree Shadow Place, Fair Oaks, CA 95628 or hotmail it to kathykieth@hotmail.com. (Notice that the age limit is now 0-12, instead of 0-16. We separated out the teens; they now go into Editor Robbie Grossklaus's VYPER, ages 13-19, deadline November 1.)

Rattlesnake Review #7 is rolling off the presses all this week, and contributor copies and subscriptions will go into the mail early next week. Snakes will appear at The Book Collector starting Saturday (1008 24th St., Sac.), or catch me at Jim Jobe's reading in Davis Friday night at the Unitarian Church, 7:30. I will also be down in Stockton Sunday at Robbie Grossklaus' reading at the Barnes & Noble in Weberstown Mall, 7 pm. Pick up your copy and find out why snakes don't have penises...

More Kerouac:


POEM
—Jack Kerouac

I demand that the human race
ceases multiplying its kind
and bows out
I advise it

And as punishment & reward
for making this plea I know
I'll be reborn
the last human
Everybody else dead and I'm
an old woman roaming the earth
groaning in caves
sleeping on mats

And sometimes I'll cackle, sometimes
pray, sometimes cry, eat & cook
at my little stove
in the corner
"Always knew it anyway,"
I'll say
And one morning won't get up from my mat

_______________________________

And one more:

TO EDWARD DAHLBERG
—Jack Kerouac

Don't use the telephone.
People are never ready to answer it.
Use poetry.

_______________________________

—Medusa

Medusa encourages poets of all ilk and ages to send their poetry and announcements of Northern California poetry events to kathykieth@hotmail.com for posting on this daily Snake blog. Rights remain with the poets.