St Francias came to me alive last night & tole me
some strange things--he said everybody is green & trees
are blue & hills are wheelbarrows turned inside out--that
a tree is a cane & the eyes grow old because of tears spilt
because of the Tokay Sun--& that life is much more
than a charming bracelet--he said life is more like a
Chinese tea pot--a big one for lots of mouths--then
he came closer to me & almost through his eyes into mine
& he sad All the Saints of old were all right but they were
not good enough because they dedent feel enough faith & love
in man to carry out his own individual life--
St Francias is at different times all over my body--
some times--like above me he is in my mind & heart--
other times he is in my stocking & I walk on Him &
how it hurts us both--other times he is in my left pocket
& I take him out to show to little children
who laugh when I talk or look or make faces--one time
he was under my arm, & my finger nails are all broken
because he cralled in there--&when I was sleeping last night
he ran all over my hand with his chizel & hammer,
carving lines--
Peter Orlovsky
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