Excerpt from Straight Hearts' Delight Poems by Allen Ginsberg COME ALL YE BRAVE BOYS Come all you young men that proudly display Your torsos to the Sun on upper Broadway Come sweet hearties so mighty with girls So lithe and naked to kiss their gold curls Come beautiful boys with breasts bright gold Lie down in bed with me ere ye grow old, Take down your blue jeans, we'll have some raw fun Lie down on your bellies I'll fuck your soft bun.

Come heroic half naked young studs That drive automobiles through vaginal blood Come thin breasted boys and fat muscled kids With sturdy cocks you deal out green lids Turn over spread your strong legs like a lass I'll show you the thrill to be jived up the ass Come sweet delicate strong minded men I'II take you thru graveyards & kiss you again You'll die in your life, wake up in my arms Sobbing and hugging & showing your charms Come strong darlings tough children hard boys Transformed with new tenderness, taught new joys We'll lie embrac'd in full moonlight till dawn Whiteness shows sky high over the wet lawn Lay yr head on my shoulder kiss my lined brow & belly to belly kiss my neck now Yeah come on tight assed & strong cocked young fools & shove up my belly your hard tender tools, Suck my dick, lick my arm pit and breast Lie back & sigh in the dawn for a rest, Come in my arms, groan your sweet will Come again in my mouth, lie silent & still, Let me come in your butt, hold my head on your leg, Let's come together, & tremble & beg 25 Aug '75 4 AM, to R.W.

WHO BE KIND TO Be kind to your self, it is only one and perishable of many on the planet, thou art that one that wishes a soft finger tracing the line of feeling from nipple to pubes-- one that wishes a tongue to kiss your armpit, a lip to kiss your cheek inside your whiteness thigh-- Be kind to yourself Harry, because unkindness comes when the body explodes napalm cancer and the deathbed in Vietnam is a strange place to dream of trees leaning over and angry American faces grinning with sleepwalk terror over your last eye-- Be kind to yourself, because the bliss of your own kindness will flood the police tomorrow, because the cow weeps in the field and the mouse weeps in the cat hole-- Be kind to this place, which is your present habitation, with derrick and radar tower and flower in the ancient brook-- Be kind to your neighbor who weeps solid tears on the television sofa, he has no other home, and hears nothing but the hard voice of telephones Click, buzz, switch channel and the inspired melodrama disappears and he's left alone for the night, he disappears in bed-- Be kind to your disappearing mother and father gazing out the terrace window as milk truck and hearse turn the corner Be kind to the politician weeping in the galleries of Whitehall, Kremlin, White House Louvre and Phoenix City aged, large nosed, angry, nervously dialing the bald voice box connected to electrodes underground converging thru wires vaster than a kitten's eye can see on the mushroom shaped fear-lobe under the ear of Sleeping Dr. Einstein crawling with worms, crawling with worms, crawling with worms the hour has come-- Sick, dissatisfied, unloved the bulky foreheads of Captain Premier President Sir Comrade Fear! Be kind to the fearful one at your side Who's remembering the Lamentations of the bible the prophesies of the Crucified Adam Son of all the porters and char men of Bellgravia-- Be kind to your self who weeps under the Moscow moon and hide your bliss hairs under raincoat and suede Levi's-- For this is the joy to be born, the kindness received thru strange eyeglasses on a bus thru Kensington, the finger touch of the Londoner on your thumb, that borrows light from your cigarrette, the morning smile at Newcastle Central station, when longhair Tom blond husband greets the bearded stranger of telephones-- the boom bom that bounces in the joyful bowels as the Liverpool Minstrels of CavernSink raise up their joyful voices and guitars in electric Afric hurrah for Jerusalem-- The saints come marching in, Twist & Shout, and Gates of Eden are named in Albion again Hope sings a black psalm from Nigeria, and a white psalm echoes in Detroit and reechoes amplified from Nottingham to Prague and a Chinese psalm will be heard, if we all live our lives for the next 6 decades-- Be kind to the Chinese psalm in the red transistor in your breast-- Be kind to the Monk in the 5 Spot who plays lone chord-bangs on his vast piano lost in space on a bench and hearing himself in the nightclub universe-- Be kind to the heroes that have lost their names in the newspaper and hear only their own supplications for the peaceful kiss of sex in the giant auditoriums of the planet, nameless voices crying for kindness in the orchestra, screaming in anguish that bliss come true and sparrows sing another hundred years to white haired babes and poets be fools of their own desire--O Anacreon and angelic Shelley! Guide these new-nippled generations on space ships to Mars' next universe The prayer is to man and girl, the only gods, the only lords of Kingdoms of Feeling, Christs of their own living ribs-- Bicycle chain and machine gun, fear sneer & smell cold logic of the Dream Bomb have come to Saigon, Johannesburg Dominica City, Phnom Penh, Pentagon Paris and Lhasa-- Be kind to the universe of Self that trembles and shudders and thrills in XX Century, that opens its eyes and belly and breast chained with flesh to feel the myriad flowers of bliss that I Am to Thee-- A dream! a Dream! I don't want to be alone! I want to know that I am loved! I want the orgy of our flesh, orgy of all eyes happy, orgy of the soul kissing and blessing its mortal-grown body, orgy of tenderness beneath the neck, orgy of kindness to thigh and vagina Desire given with meat hand and cock, desire taken with mouth and ass, desire returned to the last sigh! Tonite let's all make love in London as if it were 2001 the years of thrilling god-- And be kind to the poor soul that cries in a crack of the pavement because he has no body-- Prayers to the ghosts and demons, the lackloves of Capitals & Congresses who make sadistic noises on the radio-- Statue destroyers & tank captains, unhappy murderers in Mekong & Stanleyville, That a new kind of man has come to his bliss to end the cold war he has borne against his own kind flesh since the days of the snake. June 8, 1965 Poems copyright © by the Estate of Allen Ginsberg. Not to be reprinted without permission.

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