Harry Ransom CenterThe University of Texas at Austin

Early morning fog Combing hair, brushing teeth Catch the bus, gotta jog Strolling by, watching peeps Sit down for some eats Mid-day comes the sun Shining hard, beating hot After class, almost done Trucking home, see the spot Sudden death for what

Beat is dead the universe is alive with sound

nono, mannano, manno, manno, man, manno, manno, manno, man, manman

Everything's dead Everything's alive Simultaneously And never Quantified And infinite So simple Too complex To fit on Ten lines P.S. I don't have 10 friends who could make the trip, so if I wish my prize tour to go to the next person.

down that long long long road so far gone. gone go

In a rush: flashing, brilliant in the burning dying sun Dripping hysterical, shredded in a tenement terror Who bought into the lingering cool a serrated hallucination A rip of paper from walls emerging beneath Beaming through translucent days And into a night so thick with fear Soldiers, suffering and lonesome awake A mock elation incandescent Seared with the white hot brand of the newest west All bebop and beyond and into a broken tomorrow

find new york happenings original sites of disgust and disinterest to the average american and you will find what you need. where the teacher was murdered, where kerouac dwelled, where ginsberg hallucinated, masturbated. we are givers and takers, we are beatniks and fakers we are not obscene. we are not obscene.

despite their hermaphroditism hyenas are decidedly square their hang around waiting to make feasts out of the too hip lion cubs they eat other hyenas too they get so full of themselves they are dusty taxodemic duds who show their teeth to each other in the harry ransom center squared

You spin in circles You make me dizzy I shall watch you some more. You're bored, try baseball. Homerun. Try football! Why are you falling? Why aren't you spinning? Why won't you answer me? Why?

I like to veg Until I'm blank Then I get stressed Because I want to veg more So I smoke more pot And more and more and veg uhh uhh

can't wait for you to see the light it's here already my dear old friend

The beat of a Beatnik rings so true. Words are never quite what they seem. You label and judge but I still hustle through. From the gristle of the grit, Tug and hug through all the shit. Travels of the physical and the mind. Worn out shoes, like a cloud with no more drops. Beatnik is what you say, Yet you have no true-blue clue. I'll keep stretchin' it my own way.

Why are these people all dressed the same they walk around they are so lame Look at us, we dress so free worries? they don't bother me they laugh and point but hey lets smoke a joint they say fall in line with the rest i say nay and hope for the best they see that we are beatniks how could they see when they are looking from sputnik

A sliver of a cresecent moon All quiet in a suburban sky Bold gold shameless street lamps Stand tall Unfazed by a girl walking in their gleam Hood up brain Befuzzled by pint Bemused by foxâ'TMs piercing gaze Tired of this cityâ'TMs haze And racing night to dawn, She unlocks her door Dips into her slip And dreams of stories Yet to come

Look out from that cold twist of manhumanwomananimalchild Gut and bite down like a frothy mouthed teary-eyed beast Our only warmth a cloak of matted fur the earth's flesh under our fingernails We will tunnel out to face each other And understand what we have done The bombed out buildings of bodies unprotected from cold or Each other We can embrace the rubble of our hearts

Effort and meal tickets, writing my name across the city -- Elevators pull me up by my elbows -- Several thousand people fall back, but I catch them -- I catch them; I am their nobility. Fathers find no time, mothers too much, myself: I have just enough -- I give lectures like they are candies -- My audiences eat them the same way -- Often the auditorium is filled with a hundred different ways to say, "Yes." From outside and upside down, these are the moments I will forget -- Like me, they don't exist.

the long gone one is all but gone man to the moon my son it ain't always so easy street

Dear America, SuperBowl day is like any other. Hail falls like tired heads, shifts start and end in sighs, worn shoes kick the pavement, eyes like drones watch the clock, worn tires flee scenes of responsibility for there is no answer. This isn't it. Father, I'm here close as breath and you inthe couch glazing on blue light.

The cat who cleaned up that questionnaire is BEAT! He is GONE to the digital dimension He has scrubbed those pixels to another space entirely Done that duty like Bird on bennies, like Ginsberg in a trance, like Kerouac typing for twenty days, crazy! It's the digital dimension, daddio. You dig? Now, if it was a chick who did the digi-digging... Man, she is FAR GONE! She is off her analog rocker, deep in the digital brew, a mouse-clickin' junky, a pixelating pixie. Yeah.

Sad times in San Fran Clackin' along slow, slow Downtown express, all aboard For the smooth ride to Where? And the chicks can't handle it What's steerin' and leerin' On through the clouds of smoke Choke hold grasp on reality Ain't holdin' me back

the beatnik era is over rover but they left some things in their wake to keep us awake and burning, stomachs churning don't snooze in the unguarded face of the world relieve your friend's fear windy tenement rain splattered nights fights, rites, heights, lights get over it join the biggest race

like wow! hey dudes! you dig what has way gone? hold on to the now just in case your Zen gets in the way on the road you got to click like a type writer cool!

there are racks for glasses there are racks for ties there are racks for shirts there are racks for shoes there are racks for pants is there a rack for my brain?

flung aside at the base of the seawall rusty doorknob dented fender spidery acres skipping kids wild-sighting horny toads buying army surplus convertible-sunburned thighs happy lines happy ferries happy daze daisy nights oleander oh leander oh lysander oh anne dear high humidity you mid tea i digging for clams in the sea(t) summer summer strum her insect sounds louder than traffic distant faint peeling paint fading farther farther

As morning dawned I sat in the square. The birds fed me with crumbs. I sang their songs learned how to strut and move my wings just so. She watched my dance and moved in close. We circled to our center.

My hip cat doesn't know Her lily white paws caress What? The pangs of the revolution. Bitten in two, her sharp white teeth Snaps to, flaps in, flails all around. Tap my human nails Against futility, against economy Crazy, crazy, crazy. The blood was guaranteed And I think they delivered.

Girls smoking is art It's abstract art It's Picasso

Two in the morning and through a jointed haze I hear oozing from smoke filled Soho cellars up wet stone steps and out onto the rain splashed fluorescent sign reflecting pavements cool blue notes that take me back to all night parties and girls in black tights, bead bedecked and panda-eyed dancing to hot jazz before creeping out blinking into the dawn light and scurrying back before the streets fill with 'them' to bed-sits and creaky love-worn beds to burrow beneath blankets and explore each others bodies at last to fall asleep in readines for another night of jazz, joints, and jive

I'm totally not a Beatnik Dobie's more my style. Though Maynard was my granddad's name Please give me clean and neat. With one exception - Peter dear, O son so far away: In China or in Texas, I like your beardedness. Material isn't part of you - I miss your Funny Face!

the old joe's steaming hot but the man was a flake i crawl into my pad and the day is heavy the train will come and go but our rides will swing past we'll get a kick in the kisser then dragging our selves up again we'll be cool, man because the day is heavy

Gee, i'm no poet. More like Neal Cassidy in respects to wrenching and driving. Drove to San Francisco in about 30 hours from Houston in the early 70's. Confirm with Mickey white, Star, Hassler. I have the annotated book designers (my sister) copy of Keroacs Book of Dreams.

gone? real gone. where? the moon. above all, the moon. it laughs at me. I think. Or do I just dream. Damn butterfly. Damn moon.

The asphalt road runs to nowhere, man. Nowhere. The asphalt street has parking spots, man. Parking spots. The asphalt highway splits the earth, man. The earth. And the earth flies the asphalt around the sun.

driving on black asphalt sunrise one hour away Venus pushes Jupiter up while the sun still sleeps noisy radio chatters car door locks against homeless traffic lights red and green right shoe too tight kick it off to drive pull into parking lot -- day begins

Sure, man. Like, why not? Except why? Who's got the answer? I don't. Do you? It's out there. Where? There. Square.

snap snap oooooo left dark things cool man o man o man we is jewels cools snap snap ooooo dark man it's black too cool for damned too jewel for sneaks snap snap make it cruel cool

Seconds slip like sand sifting through slack fingers While half the world lies limp and lifeless, Eyes sightless, mouths gaping, limbs thrown wide In the throes and illusions of the little death Shrouded in twisted blankets and comfortless comforters. Mannequins feint weakly against unholy terrors and robust fantasies That flicker like newsreels and echo in the hollow recesses of a subconscious theater. The other half erect towers and topple kingdoms, laboring under the illusions of the little life, Grappling, masters and captains all, of fate and soul. Crawling from the slime, quivering gods in the temples of their own broken minds.

drinking burgundy yelling, "go, go, go!" at the man on the stage stumbling outside sandal-footed yowling at the stars the universe out there is inside you & me but we have got the South Austin blues

the road is hot my skin melts no sound of the pavement keep it simple life keeps moving don't look ahead only we can see i hear the beating of the drum as i lay on the road to nowhere it ends

The wind hits my face with an ice cubes smack. I taste the city on the tip of my tongue. I smell her sweet stench in my flaring nostrils. I exhale her in a puff of steam. The city, she looks good. The bright sun tears screamingly my unshaded eyes. Buses rumble past, but I don't hear. My heart open to the possible. The city, she looks good to me.

The day was long and drawn. I was drawn by my de-si-res to do what I do and what you do. And we knew. We knew. Oh man, we knew.

wastin time at work on a survy I'm not as gone as my cat Archy nor am i asleep like he probably is right now

Ahhhhh life back, head neck slight back, beer guzzler, tomorrow waits like tomorrow-- a whole 'nother weather Hear me and my mind is glue stuck on me, sun burns like a flea, a flea's flea, a poet's poet A small world life is, an eternal quiz it is

the world is my oyster I fly where I want and when I want so come join along and follow me to the great unknown

when in doubt wear it out never pout pour it stout have no clout dance about play the flout sing in tune stare at the moon it is never too late, to be what you might have been

Toes tapping on battered wooden floor You send your words on reefer conjured clouds across the room They tumble from your lips Float..bounce..trip..until they land I scramble Gather their meaning Swish them around in my mouth like a wine connoisseur I spit My toes join the tapping chorus I dig, you dig? I dig

Backyard artists in their concrete tombs eyes rolling dark with the day's score turn and stare at some poor cat who just stopped by for a hit of hope Because he was out of bread but he walked in the wrong door and hit the floor before he could even catch a ride home

dreams are night journeys from my mind to the true conscious, that i must remember lest the waking lets the memory fade and i awake truly lost. who was that man screaming? and why when all i needed to do was delivery the morning news? i dream on again for the answer.

ten lines to express the essences 1. what it is 2. it is 3. it is what it is 4. it is jazz man . like totally cool hep cat swinging way far out ...like Nik knows but don't ask 7. heaven it is the beat the soul the pulse the rocks the roll the ocean it IS, like, THE OCEAN - it is the ocean beatitude, a beautiful attitude of altitude and harmonious listening what it is, daddy O. 8. 9. it's like, NEW, like... where it's at so new...it's old younger th'n time Time, yeah! That's it, ..............time. livin' on a dime 10.

I   see    the      sun        like          a            drop              of               water,                 HEAVY

MirrorBeatShake

Early Village evening mirror Greenwich handshake
I extend my right hand. The right hand of the Other graces traces
The back of my hand on the back of the hand of the Other.
But quickly the both thumbs out of Nowhere together make
The still point for the turning hands, fingers skittering out of the way.
The palms, oh the retracting palms, palm on palm, unskittered fingers
Gliding not-gripping slipping sliding back finding no resting place.
I draw back the hand, the arm, the elbow now the pivot --
The Other mirrors once again, how can the Other not mirror?
I throw my thumb jauntily over my right laughing shoulder.
My thumb, the Other thumb waggling in synchronous Zen salute.