A Poem About Allen Ginsberg Poem by adam lizakowski

A poem about allen ginsberg



bald, unshaven revolutionist of ink
slightly stooped, nervously reading
his poems to the avid few
who were thirsty for his words
listening with open mouths, eyes, hearts
the sound is a word even in a dream
Allen Ginsberg the petulant child
of immigrants raised by wolves
the maniac who insisted
on throwing stones of accusation
into the cultivated garden of American poetry
the phenomenal poet of reality,
chanting his poetry -
useful as a phone book which list only
disconnected numbers -
genuine cursing of life and America
an angel clinging black phoenix feathers
in his hand howling about oppressors,
Buddhism, Zen, the FBI,
the dust that covers books in libraries
and about you and me.