For Allen Ginsberg
Got a handful of heated coins
to feed heaven’s jukebox. Prop that
door wide please for noisy Hank and
fearless Alvah and that wordy
freak of a Wolfe. I’ve met the marks
once left to find: The transcription
Of the natural flow of the mind.
leaps, half asleep, this sudden real
against. Vast opportunity
of a living flame dimly lit…
work for it! Happy homilies
for the beauty of souls in (here)
America. Cigar soot prints
And wrists of hemp scents. These old forms
Of security are too bent
for my solace but I’m about
to start to name these peaks. I.E.
curve out forever straights. I.E.
make my heaven home I.E…I
make my own sanctity. A.G.