January, 1972 Archive

The Mill: A Winter Pastoral (15)

Monday, January 17th, 1972

Yew Street Basement

Here is a still life: the wheel thrown pot
Amidst the grids and graphs and charts
Scales and rule, calendar and clock
On the steel top desk in the pulp-test station.

There is still life in the centered cup
That holds the instant coffee I must drink
To keep apace the thrumming frequency
Of the sprawled electric death machine I serve.

There is still life in the ceramic mug
The elemental spirit of the hands
That mold with Nature’s art the water’s flow
The glaze of fire, the earthly body’s clay.

Still life
Soft frozen
In stone
With thumb
I feel.

4-12 shift

The Mill: A Winter Pastoral (14)

Tuesday, January 11th, 1972


Your love is more than I deserve
Let me learn to treasure it
Without greed
Like the sinner loves his God
Who punishes
And cherishes his pain
Let me cherish pain
To purify my heart
That it may be transformed
Into a worthy sacrifice
To you.


Love me dirty, love me lewd
Keep your clothes on in the nude
Turn me inside out with lust
Send juices flowing through the crust
Of frazzled nerves and leathered skin
That locks my languished spirit in.


The worker’s goddess is his wife
The only meaning in his life.
To dignify his slavery
He raises her to high degree
Surrounds her with a million things
Home and kids and diamond rings.
When he’s about to lose his head
He remembers her in bed.
Lost his soul to please his Lord
Wielder of the mighty sword.

The Mill: A Winter Pastoral (13)

Saturday, January 8th, 1972

January 8, 1972 graveyard shift

Winter Dance

The spirit flows freely when the vessels are cleansed by pain
The heart pours forth music from suffering it cannot contain
The pleasure we treasure when scratching the itch of desire
Can move us in circles but lacks the refinement of fire.

La da da da da, da da da da
La da da da da, da da da da

Love is our crime and our trial and our punishing scourge
We trespass our limits and violate time when we merge
That explosive fusion erases the rest of mankind
And when it is finished the vacuum leaves nothing behind.

La da da da da, da da da da
La da da da da, da da da da

The sins of the father are visited upon the son
And each generation will bury the preceding one
When Adam and Eve stole the apple from off the green tree
They crucified Jesus for all of eternity.

La da da da da, da da da da
La da da da da, da da da da


The Mill: A Winter Pastoral (12)

Saturday, January 8th, 1972

January 8 1972, graveyard shift


Pursued by a question
I found a closed book
That said on its cover
Don’t open and look.

Like Eve at the apple
I gazed a long time
While the serpent of doubt
Egged me on to the crime.

I spread forth the pages
I took the sweet bite
But the morsel turned bitter
As the words came to light.

I couldn’t stop reading
Despite the hot pain
In the slash those words burned
From my eye to my brain.

I love you, they screamed
To the man sent away,
It was just for the others
That I made my display.

But I know and you know
And they know it too
All trapped in a lie
We must live to be true.