Ginsberg on a cold Night.

A poem I wrote...it's 3:29 AM.

The sky is amorphous and it floats

Above the embers of the cigarette that sticks out of my mouth.

Perhaps like lady liberty’s torch.

And the wind blows lightly

 But the

 Frigidity of the air numbs my hands.

And reading Ginsberg at 3 am has never been so satisfying.

My cigarette fades and the ash spins off into nothing.

And I dog-ear my page.

The door closes behind me

And I am warm again.

Reviews

[Sabine]

The classic Flaneur, living in with post-Flaubertian urgency. Ginsberg is there, and so is the narrative. Nicely, deconstructive. Sabine

[Hedra Helix]

sweeeeet,
calm and clear and not hard to understand, feel, lyrical time sharing.
As good poetry should be.

first line is killer
amorphous is big and floats makes it familiar. also it sounds great when read.

neat-o