Part 6 (1/2)

and there is melancholy, once again, throughout the realm.

and I'm that soul, small as it is.

HAVE FELT SAME BEFORE The death of consciousness is terrible and yet! when all is ended what regret?

'S none left to remember or forget.

And's gone into the odd.

The only thing I fear is the Last Chance. I'll see that last chance too before I'm done, Old Mind. All them old Last Chances that you knew before.

-- someday thru the dream wall to nextdoor consciousness like thru this blue hotel wall -- millions of hotel rooms fogging the focus of my eyes -- with whatever att.i.tude I hold the cotton to my nose, it's still a secret joke with pinky akimbo, or with effete queer eye in mirror at myself, or serious-brow mein & darkened beard, I'm still the kid of obscene chance await- ing -- breathing in a chinese Universe thru the nose like some old Brahamic G.o.d.

O BELL TIME RING THY MIDNIGHT FOR THE BILLIONTH SOUNDY TIME, I HEAR AGAIN!

I'll go to walk the street, Who'll find me in the night, in Lima, in my 33'd year, On Street (Cont.) The souls of Peter & I answer each other.

But -- and what's a soul?

To be a poet's a serious occupation, condemned to that in universe -- to walk the city ascribbling in a book -- just accosted by a drunk -- in Plaza de Armas sidestreet under a foggy sky, and sometimes with no moon.

The heavy balcony hangs over the white marble of the Bishop's Palace next the Cathedral -- The fountain plays in light as e'er -- The buss & the motorcyclists pa.s.s thru midnight, the carlights s.h.i.+ne the beggar turns a corner with his cigarette stub & cane, the Noisers leave the tavern and delay, conversing in high voice, Awake, Hasta Manana they all say -- and somewhere at the other end of the line, a telephone is ringing, once again with unknown news -- The night looms over Lima, sky black fog -- and I sit helpless smoking with a pencil hand -- The long crack in the pavement or yesterday's Volcano in Chile, or the day before the Earthquake that begat the World.

The Plaza pavement s.h.i.+nes in the electric light. I wait.

The lonely beard workman staggers home to bed from Death.