Gregory Corso

(26 March 1930 – 17 January 2001 / New York City, New York)

Transformation & Escape


1


I reached heaven and it was syrupy.
It was oppressively sweet.
Croaking substances stuck to my knees.
Of all substances St. Michael was stickiest.
I grabbed him and pasted him on my head.
I found God a gigantic fly paper.
I stayed out of his way.
I walked where everything smelled of burnt chocolate.
Meanwhile St. Michael was busy with his sword
hacking away at my hair.
I found Dante standing naked in a blob of honey.
Bears were licking his thighs.
I snatched St. Michael’s sword
and quartered myself in a great circular adhesive.
My torso fell upon an elastic equilibrium.
As though shot from a sling
my torso whizzed at God fly paper.
My legs sank into some unimaginable sog.
My head, though weighed with the weight of St. Michael,
did not fall.
Fine strands of multi-colored gum
suspended it there.
My spirit stopped by my snared torso.
I pulled! I yanked! Rolled it left to right!
It bruised! It softened! It could not free!
The struggle of an Eternity!
An Eternity of pulls! of yanks!
Went back to my head,
St. Michael had sucked dry my brainpan!
Skull!
My skull!
Only skull in heaven!
Went to my legs.
St. Peter was polishing his sandals with my knees!
I pounced upon him!
Pummeled his face in sugar in honey in marmalade!
Under each arm I fled with my legs!
The police of heaven were in hot pursuit!
I hid within the sop of St. Francis.
Gasping in the confectionery of his gentility
I wept, caressing my intimidated legs.

2


They caught me.
They took my legs away.
They sentenced me in the firmament of an ass.
The prison of an Eternity!
An Eternity of labor! of hee-haws!
Burdened with the soiled raiment of saints
I schemed escape.
Lugging ampullae its daily fill
I schemed escape.
I schemed climbing impossible mountains.
I schemed under the Virgin’s whip.
I schemed to the sound of celestial joy.
I schemed to the sound of earth,
the wail of infants,
the groans of men,
the thud of coffins.
I schemed escape.
God was busy switching the spheres from hand to hand.
The time had come.
I cracked my jaws.
Broke my legs.
Sagged belly-flat on plow
on pitchfork
on scythe.
My spirit leaked from the wounds.
A whole spirit pooled.
I rose from the carcass of my torment.
I stood in the brink of heaven.
And I swear that Great Territory did quake
when I fell, free.

Submitted: Thursday, April 15, 2010

Do you like this poem?
0 person liked.
0 person did not like.

What do you think this poem is about?



Read this poem in other languages

This poem has not been translated into any other language yet.

I would like to translate this poem »

word flags

What do you think this poem is about?

Comments about this poem (Transformation & Escape by Gregory Corso )

Enter the verification code :

There is no comment submitted by members..

New Poems

  1. hindi haiku ghazal chaand, S.D. TIWARI
  2. Who Really Cares? Does Anything Matter?, Mr. Nobody
  3. Jashn manaao, Aftab Alam
  4. Poetry Is Where You Find It X, Frank Avon
  5. Happiness Is..., Arno Le Roux
  6. I Never Travelled Alone, Akhtar Jawad
  7. Wholesomeness To Thirst, Lawrence S. Pertillar
  8. Sleep At The Wheel, Lawrence S. Pertillar
  9. Home and Love, Aftab Alam
  10. Annihilation of trust, Aftab Alam

Poem of the Day

poet John Clare

I love to see the old heath's withered brake
Mingle its crimpled leaves with furze and ling,
While the old heron from the lonely lake
Starts slow and flaps its melancholy wing,
...... Read complete »

 

Modern Poem

poet Grace Paley

 

Trending Poems

  1. The Road Not Taken, Robert Frost
  2. Daffodils, William Wordsworth
  3. A Dream Within A Dream, Edgar Allan Poe
  4. Annabel Lee, Edgar Allan Poe
  5. Do Not Go Gentle Into That Good Night, Dylan Thomas
  6. Emmonsail's Heath in Winter, John Clare
  7. Dreams, Langston Hughes
  8. Fire and Ice, Robert Frost
  9. If, Rudyard Kipling
  10. Do Not Stand At My Grave And Weep, Mary Elizabeth Frye

Trending Poets

[Hata Bildir]