Allen Ginsberg Textbook
squat and cat-eyed
after several whiskey shots
full of deep paternal loathing
cold noodles & hot broth
Burovski puts me flat out
on a bed of burnt floorboards
& reads me summons from the
Allen
Ginsberg Textbook
he will not
assemble you
he reads,
he will use your
broken pieces
to create a marvelous
mosaic
invite you under a
withered oak
pluck a flower from
King Arthur’s
grave pressed
between your thighs
to carry home to
your love’s hand
these pages
even when paraphrased
fills the belly & fills the lungs w/
a jittery joy that strikes you like
a quick clean cut of perpetuity
you
imagine him
enormous empty mirrors eyes
scrabbling at paper all hours of
a gale-force darkness in a single
solitary room of the Beat Hotel
9 Rue Git-le-Coeur, Latin Quarter
Paris, France
rolling & rocking against mourning
gibberish gyrating
Burovski pours two shots of Jägermeister
toasts to torrential torments
exigencies
uncensored
vernacular
explicit candor
the ecstatic
the rhapsodic
& the sincere
slow songs & slurred speech map out
our world
in
view
as told in the blasphemous preface
catalogued in the extensive index
of an out-of-print Poet’s Holy Writ
when
Burovski closes the book
he joins me on the emboldened floor
& we raise our voices just to evolve
**
I had Allen Ginsberg on the brain today. Not sure why but
because of my thinking, a poem.
In propinquity,
Nic
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