Tag: Cut-Up

by William S. Burroughs Power Is Often Very Quiet Power Is Often Quiet Very Power Is Very Quiet Often Power Is Very Often Quiet Power Is Quiet Often Very Power Is Quiet Very Often Power Often Very Quiet Is Power Often Very Is Quiet Power Often Quiet Is Very Power Often Quiet Very Is Power…

by William S. Burroughs Who Controls The Control Men Who Controls The Men Control Who Controls Control Men The Who Controls Control The Men Who Controls Men The Control Who Controls Men Control The Who The Control Men Controls Who The Control Controls Men Who The Men Controls Control Who The Men Control Controls Who…

A Poem by William S. Burroughs August 1978 This text arranged in my New York loft, which is the converted locker room of an old YMCA. Guests have reported the presence of a ghost boy. So this is a Oui-Ja board poem taken from Dumb Instrument, a book of poems by Denton Welch, and spells…

A Poem by William S. Burroughs Its so hard to remember in the world – –   Weren’t you there?        Dead so you think of ports – – Couldn’t reach flesh – –       Might have to reach flesh from anybody – –             And i will depart      under the Red Masters            for strange dawn words          of color                      exalting their            falling on my face   impending attack         satellite in a            Gold and perfumes          of light              city red stone           shadows brick terminal time             wet dream flesh            creakily the           the last feeble faces             fountains play stale           spit from crumpled cloth               Weimar youths            on my face           bodies           where flesh circulates             Masters of color          exalting their dogs      impending attack of light          unaware of the vagrant        shadows on the Glass and Metal Streets          silver flying   scanning patterns    electric dogs          dark street life   “Here he is now”       staring out          from the dawn           he strode toward the flesh     jissom webs drifting          where identity       scarred metal faces      masturbating          “Who him?” spitting blood laugh on the iron   afternoons           ejaculates wet dream flesh          in red brick Terminal Time           red nitrous fumes  under the orange gas flares          grey metal fall out               on terminal cities          to the shrinking sky fading color   sewage delta         caught in this dead whistle stop                     post card sky         dead rainbow flesh             and copper pagodas                flickered on the         in a city of red stone       black skin work fish smell and         dead eyes in doorways red water words             spitting blood laugh         sharp as water reeds      fish syllables         stirring this Moroccan sunlight           vagrant noon station         spent in the mirror          dawn jissom webs       drifting rainbow         speeded up from afternoon’s       slow ferris wheel          flesh. Originally published in Floating Bear 24 in September-October 1962. Republished by RealityStudio in August 2010.

A Poem by William S. Burroughs     Language like muttering    pant smells running    silver scanning Passed down the Arab Street          in the gutter      patterns Translucent medium from           its like  i talky you of      a place         the vacuum of silent panic                 …

A Poem by William S. Burroughs     Ahab to his companion      falling over there in any         out from the dawn       skin              staring          stirring unbelief                               he strode towards a long…