Gavel Down

For Allen Ginsberg

I found Ginsburg's busted glasses in my bedside drawer – 
black plastic rims skinny and hungry after all these years,

holding out his empty gaze like orphans' begging bowls. I ground
up the lenses – both light and dark of what he'd witnessed –

fired until molten and spun on wheels of hobo trains –
new glass eyes for my blind poems. I poked starry pinholes

in them to let in holy sight, connected their nerves to God's
electronic neck and groin (let's be honest about this now),

said prayers to hamburger stands and public restrooms.
Waited for his phantom voice from the world's last radio,

his auctioneer's cadence counting down the end of time
sold to the highest bidder. Going once, going twice.

For Shay’s Word Garden

14 thoughts on “Gavel Down

  1. Wow, you are really on a roll! This is so good! I was going to quote about the orphans’ begging bowls but then every line was just as good. So imaginative, offbeat, and fantastic. I love it, can you tell?

    Liked by 2 people

  2. “…holding out his empty gaze like orphan’s begging bowls…” Wow! And “new glass eyes for my blind poems.” Fantastic writing . I especially love the starry pinholes to let in holy light. This is really wonderful writing.

    Liked by 3 people

  3. Those glasses! Don’t think I ever saw a photo of him with them. Somehow I lost the copy of his book ‘Beat Memories’ in one of the million moves around the country I’ve made!!!! A great write, Q.

    Liked by 2 people

  4. Crackling with freight-train rhythm and burger-stand incense, this poem welds Ginsberg’s ghost into a holy-kitsch apocalypse—part séance, part yard sale, part back-alley surgery—wildly inventive, a little unhinged, and grinning at its own doomed beauty. 😏

    Liked by 1 person

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