Who wept at the romance, illustrated by Healther Wilcoxon




Art by the amazing
Hearther Wilcoxon
Who wept at the romance

    for Ginsberg and so for Solomon

The moon yacketayakking,
all over the street, danced on
boxcars. Boxcars racketing
over the rooftops. Storefront
Moloch, whose ear is smoking,

wandered around and around
seeking jazz or sex or soup,
trying to giggle, but wound up
with a sob—animal soup
intelligent and shaking.

The archangel of the soul
will never return your soul,
faded out in vast sordid
movies. Holy Istanbul
vanished into nowhere Zen.

Midnight streetlight smalltown rain
ended fainting on the wall.

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