hear the whispers of the night as it creeps down from its magnificent perch
black blue shadows of eternity singing explosive silence
yellow neon argon xenon humming electricity into soft lavender haze
a man sits next to me also writing nearly forty, balding, openly gay, thick woolen socks
four rings on his scribbling right hand
Allen Ginsberg's deaf ghost clean shaven and doesn't follow visions of Whitman through California lusting after grocery boys
those grocery boys are friends of mine working long thankless hours hating their job, not quitting
those grocery boys are homophobic, anyway
we drive by a mosque dimly silhouetted against the psylocybin horizon

02/24/2002

Posted on 02/24/2002
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