Owed to Allen Ginsgerg, The Beats, and all who struggled to find themselves in between WWII and The Cold War.

Infinite admiration for the courage that resided within humanity.

A Howling New Historicist



We still see men lose minds to madness of generations.
Hypnotized by tele-screens, black and white propogandic magazines,
Prescribed morphine, and LSD.
Ginsberg saw these things
Post-war products strung on Benzedrine, traumatized from memory,

Poured back into society
Pinned down in a democratic ditch between freedom and fists

Full of ludes

Trying to escape the fight on fascism, control of communism,

Trying to hide from conglomerate eyes peering behind billboards and the tops of glass-precipice

palaces, burning money, sustaining a binary caste.

He saw discriminate palms that held their own cocks slap innocent mouths which held

someone else’s

Heads weighted down by shame for seeking identity

Hidden hand-jobs under bridges, practicing the art of straight-jacket-sutra

Painting white-cement walls

Walking out on euphoric ground until the next fix

Masculine lips

A long pin-prick-kiss

Drawing lives already lost stumbling down walkways

Asphalt-open veins

Red white and blue blooming inside dual kaleidoscopes

Vomit coated shoes

Powder coated pills, eyes wide all night, writing, smoking, scratching gibberish to make a

change

a grey voice for society.

Silent Lightning

Lead is all I have
lead is what we needeed
round soft steel
we could impress our teeth in and never draw blood
sunken line
drug to the bottom
waiting for the strike
the jagged flashes before our eyes
clashing with a turned up saw of pine
eyes bend with thudded tugs
weeds croaking humming tunes
whiskers, scales and piercing spines
blue reflected by a burst of unseen light
giving meaning to the word deadlights.

Hair curves down along your freckled edge
how sharpness frames your perfervid face,
ardent stars that burn into mine.
valleys cut symmetry through your body
defining hills and plains
deltas and streams
contours of habitation
a helix of limbs
meshing skin
rivers from within
clouds of breath
soft-dotted-ardent-stars.

Rudytudylicious, he said, “This Love.”
well, I say this life
a sacred spice
a blend of time and trend
to fold and mend
until you’ve stiched your path
survived the wrath of lessons
it’s more than a profession
what is true
it beats for you
the pace of life.