McCLURE, Michael
    
      
    
      
    
      
    The Child
  
    
      
    Who were the Lion Men who walked in my dreams
  
when I was a fat and sleeping babe
    in a room whose walls were miracles?
    
      
    Who were the lion men with faces of fur
    
      
    and manes
    
      
    who bent by my crib to bless me?
    
      
    Was it they who implanted the scroll
  
that said ‘I’m the maker of my spirit and soul’?
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    I see myself as I slept-
    
      
    all sleeping infants are sizeless and giants
  
    dreaming in a universe immeasurable
    
      
    with plump legs sprawled upon shining quilted sheets
    
      
    AND OVER ME THEY TOWERED.
    
      
    and I was tiny in their passage.
    
      
    I remember their pointed teeth and whiskers as they stooped
    
      
    to smile-and the scent of their fur in the room.
    
      
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    WHO AM I?-I CAN’T REMEMBER.
  
    But I know
    
      
    I’m the strength
    
      
    of a million loves!
    
      
    
      
    
      
    Mercedes Benz
    
      
    
      
    Oh lord won’t you by me a Mercedes Benz
    
      
    My friends all drive Porsches, I must make amends. 
    
      
    Worked hard all my lifetime, no help from my friends. 
    
      
    So oh lord won't you buy me a Mercedes Benz. 
    
      
    
      
    Oh lord won't you buy me a color TV. 
    
      
    Dialing for Dollars is trying to find me. 
    
      
    I wait for delivery each day until 3. 
    
      
    So oh lord won't you buy me a color TV. 
    
      
    
      
    Oh lord won't you buy me a night on the town. 
    
      
    I'm counting on you lord, please don't let me down. 
    
      
    Prove that you love me and buy the next round. 
    
      
    Oh lord won't you buy me a night on the town. 
    
      
    
      
    (Everybody
    ,) Oh lord won't you buy me a Mercedes Benz. 
    
      
    My friends all drive Porsches, I must make amends. 
    
      
    Worked hard all my lifetime, no help from my friends. 
    
      
    So oh lord won't you buy me a Mercedes Benz.
    
      
    
      
    
      
    I'm an Eagle in the Whirlpool
  
    
      
    I'm the fox of reason.
  
I have had my head bent for truth and treason.
I'm a star in the sunny moon light.
I'm the stumbling fool.
I'm the horse of night
careening on the cliff of flight.
Won't you kiss me?
Won't you hug me?
Please
tell me my name.
I'm the hand of April
with my fingers made of fame.
Come kiss me on my elbow.
Bless
my
mind
good night.
Sweet old flame.
Sweet old flame.
Bless my mind goodnight.
Come kiss me on my elbow.
With my fingers made of fame,
I'm the hand of April.
Tell me my name.
Please,
won't you hug me?
Won't you kiss me?
Careening on the cliff of flight.
I'm the horse of night.
I'm the stumbling fool.
I'm a star in the sunny noon light.
I have had my head bent for truth and treason.
I'm the fox of reason.
I'm an eagle in the whirlpool.
    
      
    
      
    ¡El Cerro es nuestro!
  
    
      
    THE FLAME IS OURS!
  
We are the candle
that holds itself
aloft.
We are the Andes
among creatures
and our hands are soft
and our cotex
is a beacon
as are our toes.
You and I
are a river of light
that pours
and gleams
in
the
blue-black
snows.
    
      
    We are perfect
  
as the tooth
of a squirrel!
    
      
    --Lima-Huancayo railroad, Peru
    
      
    
      
    
      
    
      
    For Jack Kerouac: The Chamber
     
    
      
    
      
    …..
  
IN DARK HELL IN LIGHT ROOM IN UMBER AND CHROME I
    feel the swell of 
    
      
    smoke the drain and flow of motion of exhaustion, the long sounds of cars
  
    the brown shadows 
    
      
    on the wall. I sit or stand. Caught in the net of glints from corner table to
  
    dull plane 
    
      
    from knob to floor, angles of flat light, daggers of beams. Staring at love's face. 
    
      
    The telephone in cataleptic light. Matchflames of blue and red seen in the
  
    clear grain. 
    
      
    
      
    I see myself -- ourselves in Hell without radiance. Reflections that we are.
    
      
     
    
      
    The long cars make sounds and brown shadows over the wall.
    
      
     
    
      
    I am real as you are real whom I speak to. 
    
      
    I raise my head, see over the edge of my nose. Look up 
    
      
    
      
    and see nothing is changed. There is no flash 
    
      
    to my eyes. No change to the room.
    
      
     
    
      
    Vita Nuova--No! The dead, dead, world. 
    
      
    The strain of desire is only a heroic gesture. 
    
      
    An agony to be so in pain without release
    
      
     
    
      
    when love is a word or kiss.