You can keep your Shelley's, Frost's and Eliot's
Your Tennysons and Chaucer’s too
You can even hold on to ole Willie
I'm sure you're certain I must be a fool
Sorry, but none of their beautiful poesy
Ever left its mark on me
I mean no disrespect
I just  don't connect
But do leave the wild ones, please!
Those whose every word screams
Turbulent wild and free
Free from shackles of confinement
Those who  shun government, god & sage
Who write whatever their fiery heart renders
Who really know how to make the pen rage
I have no time  for meticulously well written
And mathematically perfected rhyme
I crave to feast on fire & madness
As i ply my poor soul with wine
Lorca makes my blood boil
Pinero always leads  me to think
Micheline blows my mind
After Bukowski, I just need  a drink
Poe leaves me begging for more
Kerouac floods with me with wonder
Di Prima crushes me to bits
Plath breaks my heart, makes me cry
Carelessly tosses me  into the dark
Abandoned and screaming out why???
Kaufman sizzles my synapses
Corso torches my brain
Ginsberg provokes me to howl
Hirschman drives me insane
These, some of the poets & brave warriors
Who left only scorched earth in their wake
All the while wasting, nary a line
Outlaw Zen Master Poets
Out of whom shined
THE BEAUTY OF MIND!