by on January 15, 2012 :: 0 comments

The exiled poet
without papers
or green card
only wth a letter
from Ginsburg
gets into the cab,
hears Coltrane riffs
and the blues,
it starts to snow
on the windshield
tiny flakes
like stolen kisses,
the sky is absent
and the fare rises
the hungry poet
jumps out of the taxi
on asphalt streets
hitches for a ride
on moonstruck miles
a surrealist
with action paintings
in her car
picks up the poet
who goes to the university
Ginsburg is there
with kisses for us.

editors note:

No fare? Then it’s fair to jump ship and hitch with another passing in the night. Ginsberg watches over all wayward poets. – mh

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