The Whole Mess ... Almost.

[jones jones]

By Gregory Corso, the brat of the Beat circle: March 26, 1930 - 2001.

I ran up six flights of stairs

to my small furnished room

opened the window

and began throwing out

those things most important in life

First to go, Truth, squealing like a fink:

‘Don’t! I’ll tell awful things about you!’

‘Oh yeah! Well, I’ve nothing to hide… OUT!’

Then went God, glowering & whimpering in amazement:

‘It’s not my fault! I’m not the cause of it all!’ ‘OUT!’

Then Love, cooing bribes: ‘You’ll never know impotency!

All the girls on Vogue covers, all yours!’

I pushed her fat ass out and screamed:

‘You always end up a bummer!’

I picked up Faith Hope Charity

all three clinging together:

‘Without us you’ll surely die!’

‘With you I’m going nuts! Goodbye!’

The Beauty… ah, Beauty—

As I led her to the window

I told her: ‘You I loved the best in life

…but you’re a killer; Beauty kills!’

Not really meaning to drop her

I immediately ran downstairs

getting there just in time to catch her

‘You saved me!’ she cried

I put her down and told her: ‘Move on.’

Went back up those six flights

went to the money

there was no money to throw out.

The only thing left in the room was Death

hiding beneath the kitchen sink:

‘I’m not real!’ It cried

‘I’m just a rumor spread by life…’

Laughing I threw it out, kitchen sink and all

and suddenly realized Humor

was all that was left—

All I could do with Humor was to say:

‘Out the window with the window!’