In Memory Of AlIen Ginsberg
Sad, the end of AlIen Ginsberg
the poetry he left us clear
now he lies beneath the sod
his soul has flown to God
and his body lies in Bowling Green
Past, the heartbreak
that tore his heart and soul,
past the bitter loneliness
outwitted by such roles
as AlIen playing symbols on
his fingers, and drums between his knees
his eyes rolling up to heaven.
and down below back to his needs
toking tokes of sweet smoke silky
(poking jokes on the grave of Rilke)
laughter now where terror reigned
our best friends dead, our ambitions fed,
our heartbeats led by reason now, where
once in feverish creativity we risked
all reason to come
naked in the presence of the
all-knowing Tao
Yisgadal
you said it my friend
Yiskadash
Oh Holy friend, oh fated fiend,
Holy Roller You; High Roller of the
ecclesiastics you
Holy in your naked love of your own
private truth
Holy in your innocence; it's secret,
the longevity of your youth
wholly in your passion, man
wholly in your love
holy in your willingness to be
one of us
your enough
Shemai Rabah
Beat
Hip
Cool
Babba
Groovy
Peace
Love
Free love
Yam No Horenge Kyo
Shmei Rabah
~