Gregory Corso poems
Gregory Corso(26 March 1930 - 17 January 2001 / New York City, New York)
I Held A Shelley Manuscript
- by Gregory Corso 66
My hands did numb to beautyas they reached into Death and tightened!
O sovereign was my touch
upon the tan-inks's fragile page!
Quickly, my eyes moved quickly,
sought for smell for dust for lace
for dry hair!
I would have taken the page
breathing in the crime!
For no evidence have I wrung from dreams--
yet what triumph is there in private credence?
Often, in some steep ancestral book,
when I find myself entangled with leopard-apples
and torched-skin mushrooms,
my cypressean skein outreaches the recorded age
and I, as though tipping a pitcher of milk,
pour secrecy upon the dying page.
Last Night I Drove A Car
- by Gregory Corso 55
Last night I drove a car