Ode To Ginsberg
I walk every morning down to the bus
dodging the dirty condoms and broken teeth
Chanting Ginsberg to the rhythm of my walk
Its actually pretty safe around here
the corner is just a passionate place to live.
there the vagrants dwell
drinking and puffing away,
light shining through their gapped smile
whispering the dirtiest thoughts dipped in sweet eyes
as if they were simply asking me bout the birds above.
I dont know why I enjoy such peaceful violence.
But I'm getting used to my home in the city
One day while indulging in my addiction to smog
I walked down to the corner store
The old Spanish letters had been plucked off and new sparkling words read, This N That
I walked in with a question on my face
They had changed its spanish name
because “nobody knew what tiendas even meant on this block these days”
Roots that had held homes
Were being pulled up without concern.
I walked back with my head tilted down
it felt very heavy in those days
there was a street corner in austin
equipped with a family, if you choose,
a family made up of half a dozen vagabonds with beer in hand by 10am
laughing and dancing to the sound of horns and skids and crashes and katydids
and towards the end
beautiful paintings adorned their outside abode. They collected lazy chairs, potted plastic plants, and enough green to smell three blocks away. They laugh harsh happy traveled laughs, and sing scratchy Blues. Occasionally letting a sunflower seed fly from their peeling lips.
this dusty grime coats my drifting soul
as gravity sings my name in choking clouds
but as i make my way back up the block
I see red and blue lights and a couch being thrown into the garbage.
This city is breaking its own beauty
In the name of progress.
I put my hand on your book and know youd feel the same.