Ira Cohen

your death was so reallike being in a movie you were buried today & bobby said it was all very jewish & some little kid had ½ his body ½ his mouth blown off by a car bomb in iraq so they brought him here to feed him ice cream for his birthday

alan g. & ira l. said a lone hawk hovered over your grave as they laid you to rest – rest & you always with the appetite of a hawk & heart of a dove evoked the natural world with your dinosaur bones you sought what could never be truly represented in the “real” world tangible you endured rendering the “real” thing false evolving involved informed invested in this LIFE beyond this life always a small group of the faithful seeking your every move

it’s too beautiful today said the BIG RED flowers not like yesterday – all grey & misty wet when the breath they forced into you choked on itself & the great machine that you were shut down in the midst of spring’s silence big body lost in the paradise of the JEWS

it’s a great upheaval today said the big white, yellow & orange flowers all confused who are you talking to? she asked to impending summer little girl - they answered short skirted little girl & the guy wearing the Disney t-shirt that says NO MORE MR. NICE GUY says that this Futurist’s unique forms of continuity &

space would seem like cartoons today & Apollinaire died of WAR & Pestilence – small fragments of his body blown away just disappeared into the battle stained air of metamorphosis zero relative cube architecture a non- manifesto-ist in a time ruled by manifestos & great art everywhere succumbed to & influenced by influenza gutfreund contrast of forms – romanticism – solidarity & the cone itself was a symbol of the future & your warm chromatic swirling strength quiet feet in the corridor “what’s happening to lakshmi” you say “she’s falling off the page” “the pillow is falling off the bed” “my leg is falling off the bed” “why don’t i get a fucking blood connection” “ i need a fucking shot” “i’m gonna punch you in the nose” “i don’t want the pillow to fall” let it fall – i say - “fuck you” you say – bag ½ full of piss the afternoon rush is quieting down she sweeps silently along the corridor

it cannot be true what the old Nicaraguan poet incanted what the long gone scientists claim that we all evolved from a single cell you & the hawk perhaps the ice cream cone the muddy rainbow there are unstoppable counterfeiters out there hence uncountable counterfeits remnants all that is left of original civilization the inside story of a vital brain closing doors while opening minds you leave it all behind now NOW behind you now waiting to play your song

waiting for the world to begin again born of mutes an automatic son - your links to the very origin land of the free – free links to the world the universe whose hands you are now in traveler wherein you travel with your autobiography beneath your arm/your skin & our biographies as well within this one/celled DNA-circus waiting for you to bring toward your chin hidden behind your long white beard GOD or something like that anyway see-er / translator of traditions here/now the angel of death finally annoyed kissed you on the forehead - & the skin peeled off its lips & you surrendered said hello to the bright light your shoulders lightening – the pillow falling your vocabulary communing with the SEASONS solutions – your very memory multi-layered multi-celled lingering in the substance

& you threw the dice said farewell to the color of music said hello to the rumor of otherness & immortality left behind the deep clarity of your voice the reflective rewinding of a journey & its steps & you slipped the Akashic Record beneath your cape kissed the little boy of WAR on the forehead took a lick of his ice cream threatened to stick a pencil up the nurse’s ass set your wings in motion & said FUCK YOU to DEATH - death HERE I AM!

dalachinsky nyc 4/11 – 3/6/11

Steve CannonTribes