On The Birthday Of Ted Berrigan, (1965) Poem by Sotère Torregian

"Sooner or later we'll all get to speak like Ted Berrigan"
A donkey might consider itself a white stallion
and the ear-phones oft the desert
tune into us
A hair-breaking pallor
Nothing to be afraid of
How long has the checker-board been "on the scene"?

It's the miracle she-wolf.

I know I am "too serious"
For "The Daughters of Nothing already for Nothing"
Who will erase my ulcer
See its dry its dry it's got a combination
My friends.
What's left over?

Pagliacci. In the guise of Enrico Caruso bangs his drum with hysteric eyes
His girl-friend's inside he's beating the heart of his bass drum
O that crazy clown Pagliacci!
It seems we stood and talked like this before
Don't Grab from me Baby
I keep my face and open spigot a cry of the winds
Fall all your fresh newspapers

Inquisitors
Happiness
It is the divine stone the white stone with the name
which no one knows