watch out for drugs whose after effects deprive you of sleep and play
all you can. the radio is your friend.
your only friend Mary Lou, stupified with advice, at one bound
abandoned her full skirts and multilayered petticoats and elastic belts
and scoop necked blouses and dancing shoes
sold her Elvis records
and put on a tight short straight velvet skirt and black
stockings and a big jumper and grew her hair
she might as well have kept the records for on the other side of the
world rock and roll put on a college image and started fiddling
with sitars
and poetry
and zen
like man sitting on this mountain
under my special brown horsehair indian
blanket, my real blanket, meditating
under a pine tree under the stars
freezing my balls off
I suddenly wanted
another hamburger
beer
methedrine all good things enter at this time by way of the mouth
an initial tentative exploration of different experiences of reality
like man we’re going to Edinburgh tomorrow
yeah it’ll be great just got to get to
get the train we can do it tomorrow we’ll
fix it up tonight and tomorrow we’ll
be off we can stay for years
and years
and years
until we come crashing down with twigs in our respiratory tracts and
birds in our ears
looking out of an upstairs window on a dirty autumn morning Mary
Lou saw a yard full of beer bottles and dogs, huge lean underfed
underexercised dogs as grey and dirty as her hands and clothes and
felt in her nose the rank smell of amphetamine and knew that life
lay that away and it was time to clean up and come down
troops of artificial friends and enemies invade your dreams, frantic
arm signs, dreadful messages, whole new art forms
super powerful against the super dreadful
‘it looks like a skull,’ he said, picking up an ash tray
‘it doesn’t,’ she said
‘yike, it is a skull,’ he said and dropped it crash bang on the
floor, scattering ashes, ashes of Dr Death,
‘it’s alright boy hang in there, I’m with you and I’ll rend you
limb from limb.’
Room breaks apart like a cage of green snakes all hissing
no sleep no sleep no sleep
unless you’re out on your feet
when I got married I was hippy with bare feet and jeans tied up
with a rope.
I didn’t want the money
just grass and peace peace and grass
like we found on the train man tomorrow never comes. it’s all
the same day man
Mary Lou has several children, all wearing tie-dye jeans, and
wonders if they will ride the big H. Or even if they will survive.
