Allen Ginsberg

Allen Ginsberg
I miss you:
psychedelic
clown-faced
bardic old
man boy,
crawling like cockroach
in & out
of Lower East Side
bodegas
that are immortalized
in your verse
and flourish
like a permanently
rent-controlled
Mannahatta
that exists only on paper,
with Peter Orlovsky
still raving
about your cock
roach
ghost.

The cops call Peter
captain
as they haul him away,
as if locking up
every last trace
of your wondrous
bed bug
splendor.