Poet’s Corner – The Gangster Poet Cometh – Gregory Corso’s “Destiny”

 

… a man came running down the stairs of some sad sack, no elevator, long gone, brownstone ready for the wrecker’s’ ball, wild-haired, throwing off devil brown hair that wouldn’t stay down, devil brown-eyed,  smirks, half-dressed, shirt open, pant fly open like maybe he had just finished up some hurried sex with his best friend’s wife and that best friend is now walking up Canal Street in New Jack City ready to be greeted by that ever loving wife once he walks up the six flights to their honeymoon-like cold water flat, cockroach friendly, the flat, or maybe, same wild-haired, different take, maybe open pant fly open having just come from some boyfriend, or stray pick-up  back alley after being drip-dried, he had that wild-eyed look for that hunger too, that boy hunger, hell for all human hungers if you looked closely, he frantic, muttering, yes, muttering a mile a minute words, machine gun gangster muttering those words, ashes in the mouth words like truth, beauty, age, wisdom, the veda, the Buddha truth, the karma sutra, the act of contrition, six hail marys and this, throw them all out and start fresh, start fresh with the new beat down, beat around, beat six ways to Sunday, beatitude truth.

Muttering death of god truth, beat down old man god truth, muttering against false prophets truth, muttering quietly just then some new truth, a truth worth pondering.   

…and hence Gregory Corso.        

Destiny

They deliver the edicts of God

without delay

And are exempt from apprehension

from detention

And with their God-given

Petasus, Caduceus, and Talaria

ferry like bolts of lightning

unhindered between the tribunals

of Space & Time


The Messenger-Spirit

in human flesh

is assigned a dependable,

self-reliant, versatile,

thoroughly poet existence

upon its sojourn in life


It does not knock

or ring the bell

or telephone

When the Messenger-Spirit

comes to your door

though locked

It'll enter like an electric midwife

and deliver the message


There is no tell

throughout the ages

that a Messenger-Spirit

ever stumbled into darkness

Gregory Corso