Literature
Allen Ginsberg Sings the Blues
America has been dying for years. It is dead,
I thought.
Our eulogies are written on time delay: please
don't release this condemnation until one hundred
years after X. In 1974 Allen Ginsberg drew the bell
that did the death knells and sat still for twenty
more years until His hands were so numb, puddles
of sweat forming from thighs and chest and forearm.
A bead off the tip of a nose, a spell of water saying:
I am the bleak house of the corner drug store,
windows shut like storm torn branches.
I am the beer bottle in the creek that runs through
the back of the middle school, the one your kids
poke at instead of doing their field