Howler [Medium]

[For Allen Ginsberg]

As the light burned down, Allen Ginsberg died
In a time with no difference between
Heaven and Hell. Angels on his mouth cried
And gristle butterflies scratched out a scream.

In a time with no difference between
Genius/Madness, his chrysalis split
And gristle butterflies scratched out. A scream
Of life in junk-rattle ruins blessed it.

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1 Comment

  1. When I was an undergrad, I got to hear Ginsberg read. A carload of us wannabe poets crammed into my car and drove an hour or so to hear him.

    “gristle butterflies” is rather wonderful.

    @samanthabwriter from
    Balancing Act

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