Michael McClure

 

FIRST POETRY STREAK

GREGORY CORSO

your naked
torso
is not a bore.
So
here you are
streaking
at St. Marx!
(You're even in good shape.)
We're larks
of prestige.
We're grapes
speeding past
at 50,000 miles per hour
with our noses
in the press.
The stars forget to dress
and they run naked
as an ape
or cherub
through all the old cathedrals.
Death to doldrums!
There goes mooning,
beamy beamy
Corso!

 

© by Michael McClure

(Reprinted with permissions,
from Lighting the Corners)