(For Herbert Huncke)
There are sacrificial whispers
To the North
Beyond the river Ping,
Where elephant dreams
Dress in yellow leaves
And ancient spirits
Wing down the barrel of my pipe
The hills are drenched
With poppy blood
And a red mon
Drowns
At the edge of my molten eye
This is the land
Of the reclining buddha
The little wheel
The waterl buffalo's last dance
This is the place
Of green legends
Of silk and silver teak
Where incense mingles
With a cobra's breath
And in these hills alone
The chef
With his lamp
Is king
