IT COMES TO THIS

It has all come to an end
with thirty days of bela lugosi
riding on a gothic streetcar
looking at madonna without her child
and superman in his agron suit
listening to kerouac play jazz
on his typewriter
reading about all the canneries closing
in the city that has too many cats
called fanny and freddy
then tripping over the junkie angels
down on wall street
with eight thousand illiterartes
and their mushrooming visions
searching for a cheap mortgage
before taking a barge across the river
towards some may earthquake
searching for more petrol
with an emppty gas can
applauding the poets