InspirationI spend Sunday afternoons
in Greenwich Village
searching for Holden
and old Sal Paradise.
I want to connect
with the dissonance ,
embrace madness
and take On the Road.
I stutter step 42nd Street,
weave and eaves drop
on stolen conversations
and snap shot scenes.
Sublime brief glimpses,
of a television set to scan.
Seen through dim glass
a city viewed darkly
I’ve fucked my share
of whores and goddesses
but I still can’t write
a decent love poem.
Language fails compared
to the splendor and stench
of two becoming one,
then two, or maybe none.
I walk through Central Park
and wonder about the ducks,
I often take the time to ask
the junkies “where’s Dean?”
and every once in a while
they give me a knowing look
and say “he’s on the journey,
living it, where are you man?”
in Greenwich Village
searching for Holden
and old Sal Paradise.
I want to connect
with the dissonance ,
embrace madness
and take On the Road.
I stutter step 42nd Street,
weave and eaves drop
on stolen conversations
and snap shot scenes.
Sublime brief glimpses,
of a television set to scan.
Seen through dim glass
a city viewed darkly
I’ve fucked my share
of whores and goddesses
but I still can’t write
a decent love poem.
Language fails compared
to the splendor and stench
of two becoming one,
then two, or maybe none.
I walk through Central Park
and wonder about the ducks,
I often take the time to ask
the junkies “where’s Dean?”
and every once in a while
they give me a knowing look
and say “he’s on the journey,
living it, where are you man?”
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