Northern_Lights_2016

27 Ginsberg Stirred Thoughts Whisper to my forgetful ear the places your eyes longed to go, And I will motorbike, sail, seek, sto-away, fly myself to the pages of your undocumented passions. Do you know now that I am with you? Seeking a certain re-born vision too? I lie on marrowless bones by night And wake with unaware pains and aches. Ask myself what terror did this night bring? Remembering now, How they cast you into iron. Sold your words and gawked as you rotted beneath tangled vine. Ginsberg on the Ganges Boroughs in Brooklyn These are lost allusions I walk with when dreams find me wanting. When this fiend brain dines on ash from their ever-burning cigarette and My senses lie still. Breathing now only on behalf of fallen misery-mercenaries That once thrashed between bottles, bays, and the net. Net that caught all deep sea ventures, Ones with creatures upon creatures, That feasted on eerily-uneasy subconscious fluid. Beam me to those starry scopes that drowning poets dared to weep for. The soul is a vacuous membrane and I Another on this long list will call myself; Conquered, Subdued, Silenced, and Sequestered. A part of the so-long gang that those left adrift fall apart through. I will have bones someday Which will outweigh the thickness of my recycled flesh and I wonder, how without The guiding light of seance, sacrament, and preceding ritual can one ever envision themselves grasping the feathery, fleeting, tails of faith or wielding the troubling tusk of truth? Sugar cane is my drug of choice and I know if my straying secrets ever fell upon your ears, That somber catacombs hidden behind gates of horn-rimmed glasses might have kept them. For you, my never-friend. Erin Noehre