I Know Where Rainbows Go To Die
                             On the Death of Bob Kaufman

I know where rainbows go to die
I followed your footprints
Across a strange unchartered land
Where silver whispers tried to hide
Beneath demented shadows
And oboe skies
Together we walked through a fabled city
Of hallucinating green
And talked away
A thousand smoking nights
As your aching heart
Beat its bone
In time to Bird’s brilliant sounds
Over the neon streets of murdered schemes

Yes I was there
And I saw your love proclaimed
In a  fractured smile
Like yesterday’s headlines printed in blood
On a bumble bee’s wings
And yes
I would wear your eyes

On January 12th
The dawn came up
Singing the blues
The calendar fell apart
In the face of that wounded Sunday
And the redwoods wept
At your passing
But no bell tolled in the bowels of winter
The snail did not grin
At the grandfather clock
Nor did any roses grow
From the tail of a rusting comet
Only a woolly starfish groaned
On a beach of stolen planets
As a tattooed lizard
Shed its suit of cold echoes
And you danced with Harlem’s great King
Down the alleys of paradise
To a feast of blazing umbrellas

I remember
Long gone doorways
Where ancient dealers leaned
And sold their twenty dollar bags of dreams
To those in need
And poet
I saw you buy the truth
In a red balloon
And like some mythical alchemist
You cooked up the blood of stars
But instead of death
You drew music from your spoon

Young Marty

In the Seasons of My Eye
(Selected Writings 1953-2001)
By Marty Matz
Copyright 2005
Panther Books
New York City

Praise for Marty Matz
“This book is the Beat Generation’s big gun.  It goes off all over the world.  The language is elegant.  The poet is sure of himself.  The world is sure of the poet.” 
—BOB KAUFMAN

“This guy Marty loves me—I am tough to like no less love—I love him and his poesy.”
—GREGORY CORSO

“Martin Matz fulfills the promise of the ‘deep image’ grafted onto American poetry from Spanish Surrealist roots.  He presents a new music of magical sonorities, a universal chant of startling beauty.” 
—HAROLD NORSE