The pictorial arrangement of text on the page is part of the experience of this poem, and I've tried my best to reproduce the positioning as it appears in Corso's original, published in 1958 by City Lights.

     Corso read this poem at New College in Oxford in 1958. Many members of the Campaign for Nuclear Disarmament were there, and they didn't appreciate Corso's humorous, ambivalent tone. He was heckled. Allen Ginsberg tried to explain what Corso was trying to express, and ended up calling the students a bunch of assholes.

"BOMB" by Gregory Corso

Budger   of   history       Brake   of   time       You   Bomb
Toy   of   universe       Grandest   of   all   snatched   sky       I   cannot   hate   you
Do   I   hate   the   mischievous   thunderbolt       the   jawbone     of   an   ass
The   bumpy   club   of   One   Million   B.C.       the   mace       the   flail       the   axe
Catapult Da Vinci       tomahawk Cochise       flintlock Kidd       dagger Rathbone
Ah and the sad desparate gun of Verlaine       Pushkin       Dillinger       Bogart
And hath not St. Michael a burning sword       St. George a lance       David a sling
Bomb         you are as cruel as man makes you      and you're no crueller than cancer
All Man hates you       they'd rather die by car-crash       lightning      drowning
Falling off a roof       electric-chair       heart-attack       old age       old age       O Bomb
They'd rather die by anything but you       Death's finger is free-lance
Not up to man whether you boom or not       Death has long since distributed its
categorical blue        I sing thee Bomb       Death's extravagance     Death's jubilee
Gem of Death's supremest blue       The flyer will crash       his death will differ
with the climbor who'll fall       to die by cobra is not to die by bad pork
Some die by swamp       some by sea       and some by the bushy-haired man in the night
O there are deaths like witches of Arc       Scarey deaths like Boris Karloff
No-feeling deaths like birth-death       sadless deaths like old pain Bowery
Abandoned deaths like Capital Punishment stately deaths like senators
And unthinkable deaths like Harpo Marx       girls on Vogue covers my own
I do not know just how horrible Bombdeath is       I can only imagine
Yet no other death I know has so laughable a preview       I scope
a city       New York City       streaming       starkeyed       subway shelter
Scores and scores       A fumble of humanity      High heels bend
Hats whelming away       Youth forgetting their combs
Ladies not knowing what to do       with their shopping bags
Unperturbed gum machines       Yet dangerous 3rd rail
Ritz Brothers from the Bronx       caught in the A train
The smiling Schenley poster will always smile
Impish death Satyr Bomb       Bombdeath
Turtles exploding over Istanbul
The jaguar's flying foot
soon to sink in arctic snow
Penguins plunged against the Sphinx
The top of the Empire state
arrowed in a broccoli field in Sicily
Eiffel shaped like a C in Magnolia Gardens
St. Sophia peeling over Sudan
O athletic Death    Sportive Bomb
the temples of ancient times
their grand ruin ceased
Electrons    Protons    Neutrons
gathering Hersperean hair
walking the dolorous gulf of Arcady
joining marble helmsmen
entering the final ampitheater
with a hymnody feeling of all Troys
heralding cypressean torches
racing plumes and banners
and yet knowing Homer with a step of grace
Lo the visiting team of Present
the home team of Past
Lyre and tube together joined
Hark the hotdog soda olive grape
gala galaxy robed and uniformed
commissary    O the happy stands
Ethereal root and cheer and boo
The billioned all-time attendance
The Zeusian pandemonium
Hermes racing Owens
The Spitball of Buddha
Christ striking out
Luther stealing third
Planeterium Death    Hosannah Bomb
Gush the final rose    O Spring Bomb
Come with thy gown of dynamite green
unmenace Nature's inviolate eye
Before you the wimpled Past
behind you the hallooing Future    O Bomb
Bound in the grassy clarion air
like the fox of the tally-ho
thy field the universe thy hedge the geo
Leap Bomb bound Bomb    frolic zig and zag
The stars a swarm of bees in thy binging bag
Stick angels on your jubilee feet
wheels of rainlight on your bunky seat
You are due and behold you are due
and the heavens are with you
hosanna incalescent glorious liaison
BOMB O havoc antiphony molten cleft BOOM
Bomb mark infinity a sudden furnace
spread thy multitudinous encompassed Sweep
set forth awful agenda
Carrion stars    charnel planets    carcass elements
Corpse the universe    tee-hee finger-in-the-mouth hop
over its long long dead Nor
From thy nimbled matted spastic eye
exhaust deluges of celestial ghouls
From thy appellational womb
spew birth-gusts of of great worms
Rip open your belly Bomb
from your belly outflock vulturic salutations
Battle forth your spangled hyena finger stumps
along the brink of Paradise
O Bomb    O final Pied Piper
both sun and firefly behind your shock waltz
God abandoned mock-nude
beneath His thin false-talc's apocalypse
He cannot hear thy flute's
happy-the-day profanations
He is spilled deaf into the Silencer's warty ear
His Kingdom an eternity of crude wax
Clogged clarions untrumpet Him
Sealed angels unsing Him
A thunderless God    A dead God
O Bomb    thy BOOM His tomb
That I lean forward on a desk of science
an astrologer dabbling in dragon prose
half-smart about wars    bombs    especially bombs
That I am unable to hate what is necessary to love
That I can't exist in a world that consents
a child in a park    a man dying in an electric-chair
That I am able to laugh at all things
all that I know and do not know    thus to conceal my pain
That I say I am a poet and therefore love all man
knowing my words to be the acquainted prophecy of all men
and my unwords no less an acquaintanceship
That I am manifold
a man pursuing the big lies of gold
or a poet roaming in bright ashes
or that which I imagine myself to be
a shark-toothed sleep    a man-eater of dreams
I need not then be all-smart about bombs
Happily so for if I felt bombs were caterpillars
I'd doubt not they'd become butterflies
There is a hell for bombs
They're there    I see them there
They sit in bits and sing songs
mostly German songs
And two very long American songs
and they wish there were more songs
especially Russian and Chinese songs
and some more very long American songs
Poor little Bomb that'll never be
an Eskimo song    I love thee
I want to put a lollipop
in thy furcal mouth
A wig of Goldilocks on thy baldy bean
and have you skip with me Hansel and Gretel
along the Hollywoodian screen
O Bomb in which all lovely things
moral and physical anxiously participate
O fairylike plucked from the
grandest universe tree
O piece of heaven which gives
both mountain and anthill a sun
I am standing before your fantastic lily door
I bring you Midgardian roses    Arcadian musk
Reputed cosmetics from the girls of heaven
Welcome me    fear not thy opened door
nor thy cold ghost's grey memory
nor the pimps of indefinite weather
their cruel terrestial thaw
Oppenheimer is seated
in the dark pocket of Light
Fermi is dry in Death's Mozambique
Einstein his mythmouth
a barnacled wreath on the moon-squid's head
Let me in    Bomb    rise from that pregnant-rat corner
nor fear the raised-broom nations of the world
O Bomb I love you
I want to kiss your clank eat your boom
You are a paean an acme of scream
a lyric hat of Mister Thunder
O resound thy tanky knees
BOOM ye skies and BOOM ye suns
BOOM BOOM ye moons    ye stars BOOM
nights ye BOOM    ye days ye BOOM
BOOM BOOM ye winds    ye clouds ye rains
go BANG ye lakes    ye oceans BING
Barracuda BOOM and cougar BOOM
Ubangi BOOM    orangutang
BING BANG BONG BOOM    bee bear baboon
the tail the fin the wing
Yes    Yes    into our midst a bomb will fall
Flowers will leap in joy their roots aching
Fields will kneel proud beneath the halleluyahs of the wind
Pinkbombs will blossom    Elkbombs will perk their ears
Ah many a bomb that day will awe the bird a gentle look
Yet    not enough to say a bomb will fall
or even contend celestial fire goes out
Know that the earth will madonna the Bomb
that in the hearts of men to come more bombs will be born
magisterial bombs wrapped in ermine    all beautiful
and they'll sit plunk on earth's grumpy empires
fierce with moustaches of gold