Wednesday, April 29, 2009


(For Allen Ginsberg)

I was half awake when I
heard that the poet was dead.
Thirty seconds devoted to the man
in the middle
of the ten o'clock news.
I was searching for a line,
trying to find the missing link


stanzas. i was looking for
a sense of completion as he
completed his sentence
and closed the book.

I was wondering how many
others would pick up their pens
to scribble hasty tributes
before killing the light.

I was searching for my own words,
but borrowed some of his:
There, rest. No more suffering
for you. I know where you've
gone, it's good.

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