NEAR THE GRAVE
OF ALLEN GINSBERG
Not being quite I the one yet
standing athwart train-stop
cavalcade, I watch! The open
trestle bends to shoddy Newark
as the Hackensack River flows
to Newark Bay. Entreat at the
Robert Treat Hotel, once Newark's
best, and now ask: 'Why?'
-
Just but more than a mile from here
I can sit at Ginsberg's grave to say
'Oh Allen, what was saved? Oh why
these days? We sing of them, long
and lonesone and ragged and raged.'
-
The railroad tacks run along
here too; stupid and decrepit
beneath the Budweiser sign.
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