Black Tights & Beanie
O beato solitudo! Where have I flown to?
stars overturn the wall of my music
as flight of birds, they go by, the spirits
opened below the lark of plenty
ovens of neant overflow the docks at Veracruz
This much is time
summer coils the soft suck of night
loan unseen Eagles crash thru mud
I am worn like an old sack by the celestial bum
I’m dropping my eyes were all the trees turn on fire!
I’m mad to go to you, Solitude – who will carry me there?
I wedged in this collision of planets/Tough!
I’m the trumpet of King David
The sinister elevator tore itself limb by limb
You cannot close
You cannot open
You break your head
You make bloody bread!
March 7th one of the beat poets, Philip Lamantia, died at age 77.
Even though he was one of the lesser-known poets of the Beat Generation he was impassioned with Surrealism, and an important part of the fiber of the City.
So find your black tights and beanie, and show homage to one of our own.
Memorial Service, April 3rd at 2pm
504 Broadway, San Francisco