A perversion of Second Grade Friday Afternoons. Poems in progress Shrouded in tattered vinyl Occupy my back pocket. Phrases wait To procreate And produce poetry. Then relocate to my Verbal museum Bound, leafed in gold. Immortality is yours, my Children.
All seconds meet within.
I can not escape the masters. Ginsberg's war cry against the conformity of his generation has shaped the next ones. Ginsberg's explicit sincerity has gnashed at dated censorships. Ginsberg's telling of sex that is different, yet still beautiful when written by him. Sex that would seem only grotesque lust otherwise.