H e a r t   S o n s   &   H e a r t   D a u g h t e r s   of   A l l e n   G i n s b e r g

N a p a l m   H e a l t h   S p a :   R e p o r t   2 0 1 4 :   A r c h i v e s   E d i t i o n








Apple, Adobe, Cisco, Immune Response, another guise

of the highly defined, watching

High Definition Television and the ticker simultaneously.

Japanese entertainment industry bondsmen

cluster around high screens on dark kiosks.

Columbian emerald mines, Chinese cucumbers, biotech chip implants,

Cell Genesys, Waste Management, HBO-MTV, Capital Cities oil glut,

fiber-optic telecom, Holographic-teleportation, T-cell receptor geometry.

Superconductive materials transcend the earth wave.

I’d call Ed Clark, buy Montana jade mines and sapphire bars.


I’ve already got my plans for the profits from the

first million carats: 

1000 to Naropa –– 1000 to Karma Triyana Dharmachakra ––

1000 to Crestone retreat –– coffee shop in Las Vegas ––

Maybe one within pacific wave reach,  carrier pigeon legion

all carrying Om Mani Padme Hum scrolls.


Golden sangha,

like a triple-gem Hollywood band of influence

like the bondsmen,

adhering in concentric rings emanating from the

    one holy guru.

All else is charnel ground, a feast for crows.


So rejected salesmen wander through

halls of chrome elevators and moving stairs,

such pure goddesses of porcelain in the polished glass,

Romeo-Prometheus species moving in dark fabrics

through endless aisles and rows of wanting to get to know you,

to know your business and to make it my mask.


Take stock of the precious commodity of balance

here among skyscrapers and iron doors ––

thousands after thousands of doors opening & closing

like game pieces accumulating into millions of tons of cities,

our shares of the market in rock.


Skinheads march in Oregon, Idaho,

separatists stock weapons of erasure,

dead-brain arrogance, criminal hatred

as an investment in heartbreak ––

Sad, self-made victims cower and tremble

as vampirous mini-despots devour their world

like a virus, pollute the righteous,  pure nature


they claim to defend; a total, non-discriminating nature,

exuding the antibody, antidote of seasons, time passing

in renewal as they march to the tune of anti-prayer,

hands held high to burning midnight.


Will the fool, this goddess’s child,

remember his weapon and tear through

the aorta of this iron body, slice the hangman’s noose,

rethrow the only vase for his one white rose?


Will the market remember to crash when

all hands are stirring the poison soup, when

Earth’s management takes the poison pill to

avoid the takeover of all things truly valuable?



 [Originally published in NHS 2002, http://www.poetspath.com/napalm/nhs02/hirsch.html.]