it would be easier for me if it was

1945

and we could break open a little pill pot with a hardback copy of Céline

spend a short lifetime staring at each other

sweating blossom like basho

 

it would be easier for me if jazz was still

 

it

 

if i could wear a hat without being the only other person in the room

 

who is wearing a hat(?)

 

it would be easier if all my heroes weren’t dead

dead due to the very things that inspired such awe in me

 

i don’t even know what drug ginsberg took

to make him sing so beautifully

so i’m cycling through                    the lot

 

leaving                                 the poetry of the night behind

 

embracing the gnarled malt husk of each new day

 

alone

and in love