Hot Cross Bum

Beyond a hell-vermilion

curtain of neon

lies the Bowery

a lurid lane

leading misfortune’s monsters

the human … race

altered to irrhythmic stagger

along the alcoholic’s

exit to Ecstasia.

Impersonal as wind astray

confluent tides of swarm

loiter

in non-resistance calm

through dilatory

night and day

crowds of the choicelessly corrupted

disoriented

The Bowery sanctuary’s

invasion by the vanquished

… in lazy anguish

 

Masquerade of Inexpressionism

inideate shutter

halting the bon-fire of the soul

from kindling the eyes

peep-holes of delight’s observatory

stoppled by hinterland stupor

lunging a sullen blow on sunlight

indirective

abortive ocular

reception of the objective

Bum-bungling of actuality

exchanging

an inobvious real

for over-obvious irreal

 

faces of Inferno

peering from shock-absorbent

torsos

alternate with raffish saints’

eleemosynary innocence

Blowsy angels

lief to leer

upon crystal horizons

shelves of liquiescent ‘beef’*

—staple fodder of their fanciful fall

a Brilliance all of bottles

pouring a benison

of internal rain

leaving a rainbow in your brain

Hoary rovers

ignoring all but despicable directions,

shift through intentional trend of busymen

Their sailing, flailing limbs

of disequilibrium

clutching at wobbly banisters

to Elysium

Apart from them

a-sway the curb

one wry heckler

of an averse universe

spiring a querulous arm

announces the Tremendous

unto his vinous auditorium

of vast unfuture

A universe

to which (dead to the world)

he is ideologically deceased

graduate of indiscipline

post-graduate of procrastination

a prophet of Babble-on

shouts and mutters

to earless gutters

as inattentively

snobs of inertia

turning a dorsal retaliation

on closed entrance

block door-way stairs

with shoeless tiers

of Bandage-footed thins

lifting so daintily

the lusty lice

from their uncovered shins

 

At last

in a lucent grocery

the murmur of the mass

is become lingua audibly

in sodden-mouthed excuses

One lone lout

flecked with opal bruises

of belaboured bone

hurls an appeal-assault

on my comprehension

pinning my ear to his desperation

crying,

“It isn’t my fault”

—A truth psychiatry

weighs courteously.

How idly

even

infinite dole

of pity

yearns your way

for none can enter

to the sot’s account

one cent’s worth

of Salvation

… that inborn fortune

self control

Despite that nowhere else

is Bumhood

handled with such gentleness

an onfall

of somewhat heavenly loaves

for your loafing

is the fashion

conditional compassion:

appreciation

of your publicity value

to the Bowery

So here comes help

here comes regeneration

—even a little alimentary fun

you shall not be left in the lurch

Some passing church

or social worker

confides to a brother

how he has managed to commandeer

a certain provision

of hot-cross buns

his earnestness

hushed by the hiccough holocaust

of otiose

hoboes hob-nobbing

with obtund oafs

in candid cupidity

and oathy psalmody

optimists conducting their poll

of the total calories in alcohol

or describing the sweet inward

upward of “creepy Pete”*

upward—

a flight into celestial resort

to alight in visceral discord

 

Sample interpolations of the Absolute

Physiognomy exhibiting

—the unseen pallor of a Negro

a Nordic’s inner darkness

a silly smile immune to meaning

streaming the static transit of the street

to indecision’s crossroads

where zest for zenith

zig-zag to zero

                                      meet:

the egoless eagerness

of priestly patience

for laic participance

with

impious mystics of the other extreme

shrunken illuminati

sunken

rather than arisen

avid for infamous incense

of Bacchus’ raucous breath

avoiding narrow breadth

of theology’s

protect-drapery

not loathing

their ragged habitat

of indwelt rifts of clothing

divers failures

to fit personality

in envelopes of rigidity

 

So wonder why

defeat

by dignity of the majority

oft reveals

in close-up of inferno face

a nobler origin

than practicality’s elite

Yet, if perchance

observed in down-sight from tall tower

lost it is

in grey dis-synthesis

of our adamic insects’

collision with confusion

Warfare in allure

of church and bar

oppositional altars

of cross and carousal

both irreconcilable

to well-faring flesh

As if should wish Evolution,

some esoteric union

of Mission and gin-mill

must breed eventually

someones more amenable

to ecstasy

than this unlikely spill

of God’s mysteriously

variously

retarded children.

 

Nonetheless

Ardent self-crossing

kneeling-scaling

of steps inciting even the accursed

to church

proves unavailing

for visionary drunkard

inspired

to search intuitively desired

uni-identity

of primary

satieties of craving

Holy anomoly!

the gin-mill eased him out

the church now chucks him out.

 

The while

on high

disputing

the sheer beauty

Catholicism

once patroned

to entice humanity

a dull-dong bell

thuds out admonishment

to worship

atonic metal

detonation

tolling a drudgery

of exoteric

redemption

whose cadence

of illenience

transforms the cross bewailed

to flammable timber

for over-heating

Hades

waylaying for branding

indirigible bums

with the hot-cross

of ovenly buns.

 

Death is about to egress from the church

an undertaker’s ebon aide

lurks in the portal-to-the-immortal

Saunters steep steps

to fling wide open the glass

doors of an obesely curtained hearse

prior to reception

of consecrated corpse

dross of the soul

gross of the soil

Concordantly

a ravenous truck

comes to a churning stand-still

before the pious facade;

hiding the invitatory conveyance

and carriages of florists’ grievance.

Collecting refuse more profuse than man

the City’s circulatory

sanitary apostles

a-leap to ash-cans

apply their profane ritual

to offal

Dust to dust

Even a putrescent Galaxy

could not be left where it lay

to disgust

Scrapped are remains

empty cans remain.

 

And always on the trodden street

—the communal cot—

embalmed in rum

under an unseen

baldachin of dream

blinking his inverted sky

of flagstone

prone

lies the body of the flop

where’er he drop.

One still savors

the favor of Eros

In this sore cemetery of the Comatose

here lies…

the belier

of disbelief

in this brief

bystander

Aptest attainer

to apex of Chimera

Inamorato

of incognito ignis fatuus

fatuitous

possessor of thoroughfare

O rare behaviour

a folly-wise scab of Metropolis

pounding with caressive jollity

a breastless slab

his cerebral fumes

assuming

arms’ enlacement

decorously garbed

he’s lovin’up the pavement

—interminable paramour

of horizontal stature

Venus-sans-vulva—

A vagabond in delirium

aping the rise and fall

of ocean

of inhalation

of coition.