The Tumbril and The Granite

By Peter Sherburn-Zimmer, I guess
Friday, August 13, 2021

roll on
the skulls of the living
laugh
roll on
laugh

19what was the broken leaf-sound
on the way from the Ponderosa
long after Rosie’d disappeared against the war
behind the silent pigeons to come whirling down
from the back ledge of the State Howl in
Boston’s beautiful masturbatory dike
When all that was across the room
Over the white towels her right hand surprised by laughter
We merged our virginities and tom
Wanted to know what a real poet was?
That what the fuck is this all about 1966
Out of the dark shadows fish&chips…
I could not tell my brother his feet smelled worse than fresh shit on the wall
3days old because his breath smelled worse.
And Norm hurt me with that Al record
He loved so much the only present I remember
Because I so wanted something I could listen to.
But back in New Hampshire’s future
The Granite editor refused to print
“SDS: Penchant Organizers of Sweaty Bottoms”
but gave me a camera to use and 40 rolls of film
to use as I wished so I sat in a tree on Boston’s Common
to take pictures of a million tomorrows come together to say: Fuck Yoou, we won’t go,
Eat shit you Heroin sniffing rabbits,
Or, STOP THE WAR, Amercia, go home,
And remember the babie to each other’s banner.
But they say, “Ti’s just your imagination, “
but I was there a bird in the Tree of Liberty, 19what66 before the Tumbril
published those songs that got the late night genius dj
Robbie ????????? not Freedman, he was at the wedding
Of Blue and Empty…what was his last name? writing music to the words I spoke
As I spoke them, Robbie, from Above the Inferno, New Market, New Hampshire
Where she gently covered my cock with a sheet as we talked the first talk,
1966 to present bird mom.

2
The Tumbril insert, titled ‘Mother Fucker’s Helpful Household Hints,’
Impaled a vet…all awash with the innocence of a drafted conscientious objector,
On the Marine about to kill me in the Downunder,
HIS wife in tears, I offended the poor dear,
At the use of such language in print
On a pamphlet, impaled by conscience to do what he could not do,
To step between me and the fucking six foot twelve Marine,
To insist he not kill me there since he would not let him
Even if the fucking army buddies had beaten him maybe ten
Twelve times until the fucking army GRANTED him
A dishonorable discharge
To save his life because
He could not kill for the fucking army
Who at my induction physical bent me over the psychiatrist
Who said cogh
And do you love your friend
And how would you 1963
Like to go to Alaska with him
To be with your friends where John was learning to stick the point of his bayonet into the eye of an enemy [I have no enemies] standing three man-lengths away
And we are not going to draft you
Because we do not believe we can
Train you to be effective
In the battlefield
Dark, down under angry angry angry
It’s Free just read it and decided
Muttered underneath my breath mutherfuker
Can he has 100 kills someone said
Friend insisted You can’t him my friend
He didn’t know my name either
Supplement to the Tumbril
The Tumbril “This issue includes drawings by [name deleted],
Songs and poems by Peter Zimmer:

But She’s Nowhere
In her underwear
Under
There.

She wh wh wh wh wh wh wh wh
Whew her were were were were were wer
We were wee were were were were were wer
But she’s nowhere
In her underwear
Underpan across time and campus UNH Durham
1:30 am
let me in
let me in there
do you think no one is listening
get out of here give me those keys
get the fuck out of here you can’t use that kind of language
on the air we’ll lose our license
the FCC but we were only singing
having fun
it’s not your radio station you irresponsible son of a bitsh
the mikes open I don’t give a fuck don’t ever try to get in the studio again
There…{I didn’t live Above the Inferno I didn’t want to live anywhere
Didn’t want no address didn’t want anything but not wanting, but the Granite never got them rolls
Before following Allie Kat [Octopussy]
Write something in this fucking diary, will you !!![I, me}
Censured and the radical rag on campus would not publish the essay I wrote as written because, and I quote:
We do not allow censorship in our paper
Because I’d written: “C………..r,” “C……..r,” A…..e,” “P…k,,” etc.
I really like them little old Anglo-Saxons…but I digress. Do I digress? Yes, you digress.” Tristam Shandy fucking digresses, man, I don’t digress. Where the fuck do think the novel burped up in English anyways.
To San Francisco, Surrealistic Pillow [twice] from Manchild in the Promised pussies
On her door in small letters dark Beacon Hill with four letters in the hallway addressed to Thomas Rosie, gone for three years when I move in
End of digression.
Of films, 20, never developed
Of a million voices strong on the Boston Common 1966
After the riot in Harvard Square
Inverse sequentially
Why would a person with nothing but a rock
Throw rocks at a man on a horse with a gun
Trying to run her down with the horse
Running them down the alleys
The cops blocking every street that could get us out of the Square
Tear gas hurts, still, after since forty-five years tonight
Here in my room in San Francisco
Oysters, Anyone?
While she was in Washington at the Peace Demonstration
That day.
Can’t print
Can’t say what I can’t say
Fuck, I can say anything, Fucker.