Page:Big Sur (1963).djvu/206

196BIG SUR

Ar!—Or!—Da!
What about Verrazano?
he sailed!—
He Verrazano zailed & we
statened his Island in on deep

in on dashun—
Rotted the Wallower?
Sinners liars goodmen all
sink waterswim drink Neptune's
nectar the zal sotat
Zal sotate name for crota?
Crota ta crotte, you aint
’bout to find (Jesus Christian!)
any dry turds here below—
Why fo no?
Go crash yonder rock
of bleak with yr filet mignon teeth
& see—For you, the hearth,
the heart, the lock of hair—
For me, for us, the Sea,
the murdering of time by eating
lusty cracks of lip feed wave
at aeons of sandy artistry
till nothing’s left but old age
newmorning primordial pain
of sitters by
the unborn
bird
of roses yet undone—

With weeds your roses,
sand crabs your hummers?
With buzzers in the seal
With runners in the deep!
This Sceptred Osh, this wide leg
spanning rock U.S. to rock
Ja Pan, this onstable
roller roaming all,
this ploosher at yr gory