What prophecy actually is is not that you actually know that the bomb will fall in 1942. It’s that you know and feel something that somebody knows and feels in a hundred years. And maybe articulate it in a hint — a concrete way that they can pick up on in a hundred years.

with the absolute heart of the poem of life butchered out of their own bodies good to eat a thousand years.

America, Sacco & Vanzetti must not die.

The Wisdom of Solomon (Carl)

They censor words not the things they denote:
It would create less of a stir to drop a piece of shit on Grant's tomb
than to write it out in white paint.
Because people recognize that's what memorials are for–old bums & dogs to shit on.

Song
Allen Ginsberg

The weight of the world
is love.
Under the burden
of solitude,
under the burden
of dissatisfaction

the weight,
the weight we carry
is love.

Who can deny?
In dreams
it touches
the body,
in thought
constructs
a miracle,
in imagination
anguishes
till born
in human — looks out of the heart
burning with purity — for the burden of life
is love,

but we carry the weight
wearily,
and so must rest
in the arms of love
at last,
must rest in the arms
of love.

No rest
without love,
no sleep
without dreams
of love — be mad or chill
obsessed with angels
or machines,
the final wish
is love — cannot be bitter,
cannot deny,
cannot withhold
if denied:

the weight is too heavy — must give
for no return
as thought
is given
in solitude
in all the excellence
of its excess.

The warm bodies
shine together
in the darkness,
the hand moves
to the center
of the flesh,
the skin trembles
in happiness
and the soul comes
joyful to the eye — **
yes, yes,
that’s what
I wanted,
I always wanted,
I always wanted,
to return
to the body
where I was born.

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