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meant for publication.
Do not publish these
words.
These words should never
be published.
These words are not meant
for anyone.
Do not read these words.
Do not distribute.
Please do not for the sake
of God or anything otherwise
holy decipher the meaning
of these words,
disregard them.
Please do not read these
words.
Do not publish.
There is nothing else
said
that contains a meaning;
the only meaning:
Do not publish.
Do not read.

In the foothills
of the Sierra Madre
I resided for
one month
in contemplation
of my situation.
But I was getting
drunk and so
I didn't come
up with anything
except a headache.

Rucksack telling
me where I'm
going, yeah where
I'll walk or
move some hiway
what I do or
die by please
father, please
mother,
where should I be?
--there's nothing but
the hiway, and a
motion up the road
(and she promised
always to be there,
the road)
When road ends and
cornfield begins,
nothing,
lack of road,
goodnight.

What desire wasn't
sufficed by you
curling there darkly
in that fabled room.
What desire there as
you stretched legs?
Enough to disgust
perchance and it
would seem I, too,
have had enough.
What of those who
have had enough?
Love and the lost
moon of our skies
remember softly those
nights I was folded
and spoken for though
I was an exploding star
and blew to bits.

She said what of
it, yr. sorrowful
art, selling your
sadness is cheap
and a waste
--Oh if only you knew
the rest of it,
that I'm cursed
as my fate
clambered after
her and fell up
a mountain
reaching the peak
where then my
brain began to leak.