The man who lives in a mailbox
Sings his song alone
The rent he says is reasonable
And he likes the tone.

He sings:
I possess but what I have
That time does not remove.
All the castles all the kings
Are never here alone.
Brave parades and cheerful tunes
Do not the truth disprove.
We are each a single soul
And never here alone.
Never here alone.

His song is sung to passersby
Always much surprised
To pass a mailbox, hear a song
Coming from inside.

He sings:
I possess but what I have
That time does not remove.
All the castles all the kings
Are never here alone.
Brave parades and cheerful tunes
Do not the truth disprove.
We are each a single soul
And never here alone.
Never here alone.

Now, some protest, they say he’s mad
They tell him he is wrong
And some ignore his choice of home
And listen to his song.

He sings:
I possess but what I have
That time does not remove.
All the castles all the kings
Are never here alone.
Brave parades and cheerful tunes
Do not the truth disprove.
We are each a single soul
And never here alone.
Never here alone.

Fussily he figures, that’s not good enough for him
Excessively high standards got his best, and then
Contempt for average qualities; things he had abhorred
Became almost everything, as he always needed more

His code of behavior, to one, might seem ideal
Criterion of excellence would show at every meal
Fork, knife and spoon oh-so polished, and set precisely
All a fanciful show, and done so ever nicely

Particular attention to each and every detail
In acquisition of mate, indisputably he’d fail
For who could ever live up to these extreme conventions?
Or be it prissy of me, to mention these intensions?

Mr. Fastidious to some, might seem the status quo
A state in which display, is an always-complex show
Fail not to follow all rules, as they are set to be
Or you might dine alone, a wordy one like me

Tell elms, "clock's tics move fast past tocs
bring out the greenery, push past buds."
I've waited too long  
and Spring is too short.
Aluminum siding has capsized
and I am sunk too far in this rut.
Toenails have begun taking root.
Impoverished tin can town, with feral cats  
better fed on mice and sparrows,
releases its billowing film
from trash-to-steam chimneys.
And septic pea soup drips from sky,
so tell elms, "Hurry!"
Blot out pestilential reality  
of this deadly poverty
with green places the sparrows might nest.
I will keep safe the mice.

Squawks of terror from
mother and child,
a scene never making Hitchcock's
final cut. Competing gulls flap,
swoop,
kamikazi dive bomb
for fallen fried clams. Boardwalkers smeared
in cocktail sauce and blue cotton candy
sweet and sticky. Shrills sounding,
"kitta-wa-aaakee, kitta-wa-aaakee"
as wings slap in spun sugary goo.
She is tarred and feathered.
Gull down! Gull down!
Weekend warriors in Atlantic City
never saw it coming.

The sea wind whips westward
and ocean regurgitates all matter
of gunk. Tampons, syringes, punctured
floaties in shapes of ducks and dragons,
it is ever there
in the gleaming reflection of casinos,
for homeless veterans
to scavenge upon.

Even wounded gulls eat better.

For every hour that thou wilt spare me now
I will allow,
Usurious God of Love, twenty to thee,
When with my brown my gray hairs equal be;
Till then, Love, let my body reign, and let
Me travel, sojourn, ******, plot, have, forget,
Resume my last year’s relic: think that yet
We’had never met.
Let me think any rival’s letter mine,
And at next nine
Keep midnight’s promise; mistake by the way
The maid, and tell the Lady of that delay;
Only let me love none, no, not the sport;
From country grass, to comfitures of Court,
Or cities quelque choses, let report
My mind transport.

This bargain’s good; if when I’m old, I be
Inflamed by thee,
If thine own honour, or my shame, or pain,
Thou covet most, at that age thou shalt gain.
Do thy will then, then subject and degree,
And fruit of love, Love I submit to thee;
Spare me till then, I’ll bear it, though she be
One that loves me.

He picked me up hitchhiking on Tylerfoote Xing
My years were twenty, headphones on and moshing
I sported cut-offs and my "Docs" on that stubborn hot day
My Mohawk was three colors, I was an obvious gay

Allen Ginsberg 1984 in front of Ma Trux
He pulled over in a dust cloud, this was my luck
"Where are you headed?" said he, "I'm on my way to SF"
"Just to town." said me, "that's far enough."

"Where are you from?" came a chortle with this query
"From New Jersey I hail, how 'bout you my deary?"
A gaff of a laugh came then and two words, "me too."
"Oh really?" came my sarcasm, "How lucky for you."

"To escape," I finished then a gaffing  stabbed further
He looked so odd, my fear was, " I hope I'm not murdered."
Obviously much older, a bit pudgy and bald
When he told me his name it meant nothing at all

Said he was from Newark, this did not impress me either
"Me? Camden," though he might guess from my wife-beater
"What's that music you've got?" said my chauffeur
"A mixed tape. The Clash, DK's and Psychedelic Furs"

"Pop it in the dash, lets have a listen my friend."
As he glared at my flesh, I thought, "this is my end"
He popped it out almost immediately and declared
"This is awful and loud, your generation makes me scared!"
  
We argued a bit about music and art
"Patti Smith is the greatest poet!" I told the old ****
"She's from Jersey too, like Walt Whitman and us."
Allen's reply, "Oh really, what's the fuss?"

"Whitman comes from Camden, I'm a poet like him"
Ginsberg said, "oh yeah, well let's hear some Slim"
So I began to recite from "Leaves Of Grass"
"Not Walt! Give me yours kid, I don't want to hear him, you ***."

So I threw at him my most recent, "Angel With A Pool Que"
He complimented me so nicely, I believed he spoke true
"Ever hear of Howl? I'm a poet too."
He recited dozens of lines and I thought "p-u"

My offer was, "It needs some work"
His exclamation was, "Do you know who I am, you ****?
I'm Allen Ginsberg, you mean you haven't heard of me?"
I exclaimed my name back, boldly emoting "don't you see?"

We laughed together it was a joyous moment in time
Then his hand moved to my knee as he blurted some rhyme
I picked it right up and placed it back on the steer
"If that's what you want Sir, I can walk from here"

He stopped his car there in the middle of the 49 highway
"I mean you no harm young man, I assumed you were gay"
I explained, "Of course I am, but we are not going there"
He was a perfect gentleman then on, with out even a swear

I inquired with my friends when I got to town
Of this charming old poet I left with a frown
They jumped and spun and called me "**** crazy"
One handed me Howl in hard cover; I felt dim as a daisy

Falling for you
You are an oil spill on my slippery *****
How is it that I ever did cope?
Sliding so fast
Ready to crash
Then woosh
Off the cliff I go
Never to know
When or where I shall land
Is that your hand?
Which has grabbed my ankle
As I slam against the wall
Pebbles, rocks and dirt          
Pelting me as you flirt
With my impending doom
Dragging me upward past bloom
Of buttercup shining
Underneath your chin
Grasping me from within
Pulling me to the brim
Of perfection
In mint condition sin
To hell I go
And didn’t you know?
Greasy escarpments bestow
A Flight of Fancy below
Off We Go!