Tag Archives: boogie

Time Drips Down and Down

Abbreviated love this afternoon, until light strikes clouds and hours roar near. I think it often while extending moments and ticks, until my sun who shimmers; circles along my chest. Happy is the word and content for hands; that touched … Continue reading

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Posted in Albert Camus, alcohol, beat, cohen, dreams, love, music, Allen Ginsberg, America, Andre Breton, Arthur Rimbaud, beat poetry, bible, devil, God, Hope, Jacques Prevert, leonard cohen, Love, ocean, Ogden Nash, Paris, Poetry, prayer, sentiments, Serge Gainsbourg, Song, tom waits | Tagged , , , , , , , , , , , , ,

Beat of Our Dreams, Sweet Thoughts

We climb to the stars baby – the stars’ ladder. We are those stars of charts and meanderings through the crystal skies, the jet-plane paths and blue oxygen. How far I climb is up to me, but all I see … Continue reading

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Posted in Allen Ginsberg, beat poetry, God, jack kerouac, Jacques Prevert, leonard cohen, Paris, prayer, Spirituality, tom waits | Tagged , , , , , , , , , , , , , , | 1 Comment

Whew – Sweat Down Beads of Sweat

Spank my hand and twist my finger – but don’t plug my nose –
I gotta smell – I want to taste… feel the thrill, oh don’t give it up –
so easy – so simple, filthy girl. Continue reading

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Posted in Allen Ginsberg, beat poetry, jack kerouac, leonard cohen, Spirituality, tom waits | Tagged , , , , , ,

A Discharge in Dirt

Born dead with blinding light, we escape the mouth of time tugging back. Riding the light and the charge, it is a one-way straddle feeding the volts. Look up, gaze down – it’s where we end, a discharge in dirt. … Continue reading

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Posted in beat poetry, David Cronenberg, devil, Django Reinhardt, French Poetry, Gypsy Jazz, jack kerouac, Jacques Prevert, Montmartre, Serge Gainsbourg, tom waits | Tagged , , , , , , ,

Get Under Skin

Get under my skin, do it dirty. Continue reading

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Posted in Beat Comedy, beat poetry | Tagged , , ,

Mind Your Business It’s All Go Go

Amazon heats her burning waste, she’s tickling time with paint squint eyes. With a sinkhole grip of uncertain hold; she just babble talk babble, babble just blah, blah and blab. She dropped the room flat cold – down so down. … Continue reading

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Posted in beat poetry, San Francisco Renaissance | Tagged , , ,

A Godless Experience

Where are the scars on your submissive hands; you never share. Continue reading

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Posted in beat poetry, expatriates, Lost Generation | Tagged , , , | 1 Comment