I'll write to you
John Wieners
you old twisted fruit long
dead & drained of brilliance
brain inherited from Burroughs
you analytical ****** John
long gone are the hours you
spent in bars in bed in someone's
*** like Ginsberg you are the
emotional man who ran his
fingers through the flesh
of frozen moments tenderness
exhibited in elegies of
departed lovers no dope
sunrise sheltered by your
words the refuge of poetic
gnosis brought from Beats
to Black Mountain *******
Moloch men mounting
one another thighs apex near
sun to receive the final fatal
flash of pleasure then descend
again to madness like
Kerouac you sought the silver
honey-milk of bohisattva jazz
jive held eternity in a frozen
moment and a moment on a
page made offerings to the
hideous grey gods of machinery
and read the neon streetlight
hieroglyphics you who busted
mind-forg'd manacles of Blake
with consonance and assonance
and *** of boys born bravely
to the ecstasy of final drunkenness
& one last cigarette O
prisoner of earth and of the body
you are risen!