somewhere South of Seattle four deaf old poets cruise down highway 99 in their rusted '52 Mercury searching for new words god and Charlie Darwin
off the beaten track towards the beatnik path they eject their unwanted poems against the smashed dashboard hearing nothing but rejections broken by monotony seeing nothing but the signs along the way
RESERVED IN HELL
FOR WHISKERED POETS
.....an explanation for you youngsters under 55....back in the 40s and 50s driving down the 2 lane highways across America...there were signs at different points spaced approx 100 ft apart advertising a shaving cream.....BURMA-SHAVE
her world was a black hole of emptiness a hollow home where the sun never shines raining dust between the storms where fingertips search beyond despair and walk towards a new neighborhood searching for City Lights
she wondered why she was still alive in a world of forgotten nothingness pouring darkness from the storm unable to see the path to remember and read her unspoken words to the dead poets at City Lights
uncomfortable with midnight at high noon she discarded old thoughts and decided to leave finding the door that was unlocked she discovered the truth about herself and walked with her dark poems to read at City Lights
Walking on the hungry sidewalk, I met a homeless lady who took me to her shelter. The shelter had nothing, just two wet tarpaulins. She invited me to stay and sleep, though I hadn't had a meal in a week.
"When we awake we shall find food," she muttered, and stroked my beard to comfort me.
I dreamt of chickens roasting, grease dripping like gravy from their beaks. There was a hole in my stomach when I awoke, in which I could see the emptiness.
chickens munching on grain - hungry beaks side by side