What thoughts have you tonight Allen Ginsberg? For I walk down the main street
Under the streetlights with a sinking self-consciousness, looking at the blank building site.
In my quest for new experience, and shopping for clarity,
I went into the neon night dreaming of your visions!
What soul and what joy! Lovers at night! Circles sweeping the floor!
Girls shimmering and boys shaking down! Shadows shine lunar reflections!
And us- my Peter Orlovsky- What were we doing down in the corridor?
Give me your thoughts, Allen Ginsberg, dancing, new dreamlike words,
Sprawling among the leaves of my mind and speaking to the night.
I was asking questions: Can we go to the bar? What can I do? Are you my Angel?
I wandered in and out of bright lights and vibrations, followed by you and following
Brilliant waves of imagination.
We were down in the open corridor together, in our solitary harmony, tasting your lips,
Which possessed ecstasy, and watching passersby. They all say we’ve got it.
Where am I going, Allen Ginsberg? The doors closed at daybreak. Would your writer’s
Hand have pointed us towards the black taxi tonight?
(I think of my dreams and jumpy visions of you at the Moor and feel foolish.)
But held in your arms, asleep, a lighter direction. The trees are coloured
In green, the pale blue sky heavy, streets solitary.
I wake with you, dreaming of this love, whispers under the covers, forgotten whimsies.
Ah, poor Beat poet, bearded, lonely now forever, scattered in my brain like stars.
What poetry is this? Smoke curling upwards towards the construction site staring back.
