October 24, 2012

The night is late
-again!-
the night is always late
always blacker
than ever before.
I know it must be an illusion.

Allen keeps me company
always Allen
always sweet sage poet Ginsberg pigeons
and New York brick and silence
He knows.

The feeling
creeps
in again
-How familiar-
That this life has one path
of love
and family
of steady incomes
and a rested soul

and another
of long nights
all darker than the previous
of the glow of type
of inestimable sadness
and 80 years fighting
for that short moment
of feeling
that your body is not yours
that it is owned
by a spirit stronger
than your veins

and when you wake up
there on a white sheet
of paper
your blood
you leave
a Word.

and it was worth
the every black
dark
lonely
empty
tragic
painful
night
in its wake.