Michael McClure


The Chamber

for Jack Kerouac 
IN LIGHT ROOM IN DARK HELL IN UMBER IN CHROME,
I sit feeling the swell of the cloud made about by movement

of arm leg and tongue. In reflections of gold
light. Tints and flashes of gold and amber spearing
and glinting. Blur glass…blue Glass,

black telephone. Matchflame of violet and flesh

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