Homage Kenneth Koch
If I were doing my Laundry I’d wash my dirty Iran
I’d throw in my United States, and pour on the Ivory Soap, scrub up Africa, put all the
birds and elephants back in the jungle,
I’d wash the Amazon river and clean the oily Carib & Gulf of Mexico,
Rub that smog off the North Pole, wipe up all the pipelines in Alaska,
Rub a dub dub for Rocky Flats and Los Alamos, Flush that sparkly Cesium out of Love Canal
Rinse down the Acid Rain over the Parthenon & Sphinx, Drain Sludge out of the
Mediterranean basin & make it azure again,
Put some blueing back into the sky over the Rhine, bleach the little Clouds so snow return
white as snow,
Cleanse the Hudson Thames & Neckar, Drain the Suds out of Lake Erie
Then I’d throw big Asia in one giant Load & wash out the blood & Agent Orange,
Dump the whole mess of Russia and China in the wringer, squeeze out the tattletail Gray
of U.S. Central American police state,
& put the planet in the drier & let it sit 20 minutes or an Aeon till it came out clean.
Boulder, April 26, 1980
Saturday! We made it through another week, work 9 to 5, irony, smiles, text messages, planning, chores, bills, lawn moaning, lawn mowing, lawn moaning, busy calendar pages, doubts, giggles, kisses, hugs, weeknight drinking and guilt associated with that, pills, back pain, work travels, heart breaks..god.. how could you fit such a massive spectrum of human experience in just 5 days.. it’s wild.. too much, yet too little! and don’t worry there is more to come just in a couple of days.
But Saturday now, poets are awake, coffee is delicious, eggs are sunny side up, and breaded is toasted to a sublime perfection. Take a deep breath, let a sigh out, a loud from the core, moan, groan, just come to this body you have. I have been busy with my “job” and a poetry project inspired by Inktober thanks to Alison Dale — I can’t draw so I am writing 31 poems using 31 prompts for 31 days. In this process been thinking a lot about the beats, the New York New School, Bukowski, Mary Oliver, Sex, politics, gruesomeness of our world, beautify of world, people, lovers, erotica, and the undervalued easy to consume magic of poetry. Probably been drinking too much coffee, good amount of whiskey, and listening to way too much Coleman Hawkins’ smooth Jazz. I like the practice, it’s harsh on ego, good for writing, and pushes laziness away. Discipline, Discipline, Discipline. Art without discipline is almost like no art for me.. Discipline and Fire! I need these two! Woke up this morning, had a pot of coffee and thanked my liver and kidneys for another Friday night, did some chores around the house, listen to rain, fried eggs, touched my body and thought about a cliff and how I’d like to be one, then listen to Hawkins then listen to rain, wrote a poem, and read bunch of poems until I ended up on this one.. I love’d image in my head, Ginsberg wearing nothing but his underwear, bald head, smoke, coffee, and him doing chores.