Stopped shaving
with rusty hungover razors
while monks bathed in fire, familiar sun.
All hail cock-happy Kabbalah son's poems
Shooting death into kalediscope's eye:
So much necessary medicine-
Photos of soldiers posing with Che's corpse
on a cold metal morgue table, dead to defeat-
The residents of bottom drawers of
suburban husbands' dressers-
Sons of lost revolution gleaming into
crystal balls of whiskey dreams,
Technological freakshow fad visions;
Lotus petals cling like cigarette burns
on so many carpets and man's stain
on the ash of time
Reason for writing:
I was reading Ginsberg's collected poems at the laundromat and this came from it. It is completely stream of consciousness as you may be able to tell. When I was browsing the poems here, I saw the one for Ginsberg and it made me think of this one.
Birth sign: Not entered
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