Alex begruded Ginsberg
for “getting to Howl first”
as if the poem were a thing
from galaxy debris
As if it were fully formed,
gestated in the star-speckled belly
of The Great Subconscious
As if Ginsberg simply stumbled upon it,
or more aptly, tripped,
in the midst of humble composition.
Was it luck of the draw,
the fortune of slender fingers
that coaxed forth
such beatnik masterpiece
from The Great Grab-bag of the Imagination?
Maybe it was chance.
Some equally abstract,
I row, gently,
down the stream of subconscious
waiting to meet the ocean’s own
reflection of itself
in the sky
This one’s in the early gestation stages.
It feels pretty much incoherent to me right now. No idea how it comes across.
The title was inspired by the Tom Waits song
- http://en.wikipedia.org/wiki/Theory_of_Forms (just as a concept. not as a concept I LIKE)