(song after Ginsberg)



When I was twenty-one I grieved at 
the mess of souls that we were, at 
our quiet longings, our misplaced 
electric fires, how we gave 
ourselves, our lives, so furiously, 
boundlessly, beautifully, madly to 
love like young fucking human 
beings out in the street protesting 
the overbearing cold and never 
being really sure but finding hope 
in the smallest of kindnesses. 

I sat in cold rooms with friends and 
others, soon-to-be friends, and 
found inexplicable warmth in the 
sharing of stories and words and 
the outpouring of something like a 
shared humanity when for a few
seconds I am lost in this stream of 
others and come out through some
other side feeling like I've walked 
with other shoes, like you've put 
your heart in this cavity where mine 
should go and I am confused and 
breathless and thrilled. 

I spent nights wondering about 
love and sacrifice and loss, feeling
at a loss at this instability begotten 
by love, by this ceaseless giving 
myself up as if I were bread and 

in the mornings I cried tears, real 
tears that came out of my eyes and 
nestled in my beard and I 
remembered what it was like to 
breathe, to feel a pain in a heart 
that's not your own. 

still there was yet a longing. 
the world, the whole of it, 
was my unrequited love. 


Lista de imágenes:

1. Uno de los muchos selfies de Allen Ginsberg.