Pictures at an Exhibition
I recently saw the ghosts of beat poet visionaries
staring lonely, from pictures at an exhibition
Ginsburg, Corso, Snyder, Kerouac, and Cassady
the murderer’s row of the desolation angels line-up
smoking cigarettes on dingy New York fire escapes
eyes squinting into the brutal mid-day sun of Tangiers
chanting Buddhist mantras in Golden Gate Park
posed with arms around each other in Mexico City
with the fires of holy imagination burning in their faces
My heroes, the ones that lit my blaze of spirit
and urged me to write with their heat and passion
burdened souls, searching out the mysteries
of rhythm and god hidden inside hip, jazz phrasings
My heart swelled with gratitude
and for a moment, they were friends
ghosts grown much larger than life
urging me to walk in their footsteps…
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