NAROPA BOYFRIENDS

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Naropa Boyfriends
Boulder Diary
How I Write Poetry &
Who I Learned From
Writing Poems
Family Portrait
Scrap Book
Another Day
Julius My Brother
Mirror
Morning Poem
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NAROPA BOYFRIENDS

“nothing like a hot dish
of warm lips”
—Peter Orlovsky
CLEAN ASSHOLE POEMS
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Naropa a big Marketplace—
everybody is writing poetry

Allen says to his classes—
poetry is by itself nothing
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I’m always at the mercy—
of cute young Rimbaud boys

I know what that means—
the great come-on routine
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All these young guys—
hangin around Allen

Each night in Boulder—
goin to bed with some kid
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BOULDER DIARY

“Talk we Split it’s—
all right, goin ways”
—Peter Orlovsky
CLEAN ASSHOLE POEMS
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Allen’s apartment becomes—
a youth hostel every night

They want to get in bed—
with the great queer poet
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It’s okay with me cause—
I’ve been there done that

It’s okay with me cause—
by now it’s all pretty boring
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I’m not turned on by—
Allen’s old ugly cock

Young guys can do him—
I could give a shit
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They’re not interested—
in poetry just being famous

“Look at me, I went to bed—
with the great poet Ginsberg!”
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HOW I WRITE POETRY &
WHO I LEARNED FROM

“In 1957 Paris hotel room
I wrote my first 2 poems”
—Peter Orlovsky
CLEAN ASSHOLE POEMS
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I learned from Allen—
to always write it down

Always carry a notebook—
so you can drop it on paper 
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I get a kick jotting down—
spontaneous flashes

Corso taught me to recognize—
funny speech word idea combos
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Catullus natural talk about love—
Rimbaud for lightening action

Lorca for finding my duende—
WC Williams for reality track
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Allen for spontaneous verse—
“First word, best word”
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WRITING POEMS

“Writing poems is
a sacred thing”
—Peter Orlovsky
CLEAN ASSHOLE POEMS
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Writing poems scary business—
sacred & yet profane too

A diary or a novel—
would make a lot more sense
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One family all I ever want to know—
what good another soap opera?

The same old memory ramblings—
another bunch of normal lies
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To breathe is just to sigh—
roll my eyes is all I can do

Rain & snow my only clock—
watching it thru the window
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Grinding my teeth for lack of love—
the world a cold stove cathedral
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FAMILY PORTRAIT

“I love the foot steps—
of my family when
they walk thru the
house at night”
—Peter Orlovsky
CLEAN ASSHOLE POEMS
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I don’t like sorrow to hang—
down from my family tree

So I try to visit them—
as much as I can
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I’m just a nameless asshole—
but they’re still my family

Looking into each other’s loopy eyes—
it’s sad but still we’re still here
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Old age is a heart stab—
see what it does to faces?

No wonder they pull down—
the window shades so that
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None of the neighbors—
can see what I see

All families are the same—
it’s just so fuckin sad
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SCRAP BOOK

“beauty lies deep like
the little speck of dirt”
—Peter Orlovsky
CLEAN ASSHOLE POEMS
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Heaven’s closet—
what’s in there anyway?

I use my teeth and fingers—
to pry it open, saliva dripping
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My broken fingernails—
flinging the closet door open

Spooks spillin out—
a rush of rumors too
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What did I think was—
in there anything to know?

Then he comes out—
my idiot kid brother Julius
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ANOTHER DAY

“a hungry rose cloud
will eat us up”
—Peter Orlovsky
CLEAN ASSHOLE POEMS
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The smiling shadow—
in my broken heart is

An unseen face—
hidden in some clay
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Always a little stillness—
when I stop and think

What am I all about—
standing, sitting here alone?
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A monument to fate is—
being erected in my pants

Getting on the bus—
everybody sees it
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JULUS MY BROTHER

“No tears for Julius tonight
brother that left me young”
—Peter Orlovsky
CLEAN ASSHOLE POEMS
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He’s only 18—
goodlooking with a mop of hair

Gone, gone down the road—
such a strange crazy kid
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He sits alone in the corner—
that faraway look in his eyes

I’ve worked in mental hospitals—
know the gloomy horror of it
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At least he’s home with mother—
even tho she’s a zombie too

It runs in our family—
years pass, it just gets worse
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MIRROR

“All I need is a mirror
for the rest of my life”
—Peter Orlovsky
CLEAN ASSHOLE POEMS
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Shaving in the morning—
my hairy ugly werewolf face

My eyes just empty holes—
only hoping to understand
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Blinking neon sign shines—
down thru my bedroom window

Reminding me once again—
life is just a Grade-B movie
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My life here in NYC—
another American beatnik 

Thank god I’m not a hustler—
selling my bod on Times Square
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MORNING POEM

“Morning again,
nothing has to
be done”
—Peter Orlovsky
CLEAN ASSHOLE POEMS
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Morning comes—
don’t feel like doin nothin

Maybe I’ll write a poem—
or let a poem write me
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Time for another joint—
let the show begin

There’s this elevator—
from my bed to the floor
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Isn’t that paradise—
your own dream room-land?