Hold back the edges of your gowns,
Ladies, we are going through hell
-William Carlos Williams
introduction to Howl and other Poems


Okay, Alan-so you
up and died and there was
Robert Hass, (quoting
something someone said )
which lead to how you
have disappeared
into poetry
that’s true-- you
have, I think,
been disappeared into
your muse and God willing into
mine and into
graffiti of yellow restroom
walls and whitewashed
windowless cells and
God help us, the pages
of Newsweek. And time

holy, holy, holy

The finest
blown minds
of our generation
are floating in
or headed toward
that dark sea
near Sausalito
near North beach
near nirvana
in the final baptism
of Absolut reality

2.

holy, holy fools

the best minds of the
new generation
are tattooing slogans
and insects on
breasts, hips
thighs, smoking the
dope you threw into
garbage pails
following you up mountains
toward gurus and coming
home to Starbucks
to throw themselves
naked over cliffs of cant
or worse
taking LSATs and
growing into polished
wing tips and
jumping out of buildings
when their job is downsized
or their computer develops
a fatal error
and all data,
Dada,
datum
disappearing in a blink
and a whine

You say, Ferlinghetti,
that Alan is with the great
lover death and death is
going down on him
in a continium of bliss
but that sweet companion
is going
down on you and
me and the best and
worst minds
of all generations

3.

so, fine… we might as well
wrap ourselves in

Jazz or k.d lang
and howl with you
Alan, like so many deserted
deranged ,disheveled,
angel coyotes
barking up all trees
to find the right one
and marking hydrants
with hot streams of prose

Holy, holy , holy

But you, Alan,
are lying cupped
with the great lover death--
your mantra simmering in
the animal soup of time
in spite of your dictum:
Die when you die

Poetry Magazine