Wednesday, 21 July 2010

so i read a lot of ginsberg yesterday

As our grinning nights
do crumble down to
pixels so shall the cities
the literature the factories
all fall down.
This blue room where I
first read Ginsberg
will eat itself too,
the whole earth must plummet,
for History
is an amnesiac, the papers
thrown to the wind -

Then in a thousand years

that first kiss of ours,
October '07, Indian summer,
will perish and cease
to have ever existed.
But in 2591 the sci-fi aliens
might fuel their cars
on cathedrals London sirens
Moby Dick hospitals, on
love petrol, our dead October
every dead romance

now dust, all dust, at rest.

No comments:

Post a Comment