First published in Fig Leaf, April 2007
by Stephen M. Wilson
Dedicated to ‘The Summer of Love’ and to the memory of Allen Ginsberg.
What thoughts we have of you tonight, Allen Ginsberg, as
we drift down the dirt path, through the black machinery of night, with heartache—
consciously floating toward the bright comet.
In our dreaming state and plying for inspiration, we stepped
into the feculent waters of
What leeches and what piranhas! Whole schools swim
tonight! Waves full of sharks! Rays in the
undertow, eels in the kelp!—and you, Laura Nyro, what
are you doing down by the water?
We saw you, Allen Ginsberg, childless, lonely, O Lion of Dharma(!),
swimming among the stars in the reflecting water and eyeing
We heard you howl to him: My ass drags in the
Universe! Throw ashes in the air! Holy the Bop Apocalypse!
We waded in and out of the dark ripples of water
following you and followed in our collective conscience by your echoing
We stroked down the fast currents, together in our
fancy Nike’s, feeling heart-broke, yet possessed by frozen
delight and never passing judgment.
Where are you going, Allen Ginsberg? Heaven’s Gate closes in
an hour. Which way does your soul point tonight?
(we touch your ka and proceed on our odyssey into the
supernova and feel absolved).
We will swim all night through celestial fires! The
trees on the bank all darkness to the night, blocking out the moon. You’ll not be
We will float, dreaming of a crashed A-10,
past solar flares and meteors, to our comet, Hale-Bopp!
Ah, dear beat-king, lonely old hipster,
yours as well? You got out a few days late. We still drift watching, waiting
for your one soul to join our thirty-nine.