Ginsberg knew what was up

Only schizophrenic roses revel

in the broken air on these nocturne

streets: in some window a silhouette

          and summer-jazz clarinet.

 

Hands jutted into his pockets, Allen

Ginsberg tracks the werewolf

that howls each night--moon

or no moon--within this city.

 

They tell us to pray to that industrial

Molloch but he hasn't appeared

in the newspaper for so long--the

streets wither beneath our stampede routine.

 

Ambulance sirens sing to each

other like lost whales and I hear

Ginsberg mutter

 

    machinery of night

 

over and over.  I creep closer

and closer--roseless rose

clutched around my neck, and right before

he turns around, the thorns

bite and force a wolfish scream.  

Reviews

[Samantha ~virginpoet]

Wow I love this! Ive become starry eyed by your brilliance, You have rose thorn teeth injecting poetry like venom (in a good way)

hope that made sense lol

100/100

going into my fave list

[外人 (Gaiji..]

Well, that looks like a little modern romance chapter in verses :)
Great job, definitely original, the last kind of story i can possibly think of, written in verses are the knights medieval romances

[Amelie]

And that made me Google Ginsberg. Wow I've been learning a heck lot in this site in just 4 days! Anyway, this flash fic is another remarkable nugget of brilliance. Brevity is the soul of wit- dang! you have it girl ;)

[bob, small b. aka invs]

i always had trouble taking ginsberg seriously. to me he was the buffoon of the beat poets. but i think you've captured a little of the feeling of the best of the beats. the intellect, the jazz improv feel, the urban pulse. nice work.

[Rusty]

I guess I would have to read Ginsberg to really get this. Which I will.

[Wild Willow Blue]

Chilling; I feel your emotion in this.