A Poem For Ginsberg.

Was there anything left to see?
I caught you,
looking outside.
Did you get to take in the garden?
Did you see the vegetables and plants?

I didn't stride down aisles,
I didn't confront past poets,
I didn't follow a noble man,
I just planted what I had.

But had I done so,
I'd have screamed as I held the dictionary.
I'd have seen nothing as beautiful as he.

I ingested the chops,
I have no time for the price,
and I've loved and dreamed before.

You, my dear sir,
You've loved me all these years,
I've protected your ideals and name.
(I was asked about names today, they've nothing compared to yours)
I planted my garden
in hopes your apparition
could make it's way over around August.
I hoped for the best, but all to no avail.

Will you ever stop by?
You could teach by the shed,
it could be nice.
It's no L.A.,
but hell, summer nights here are something else.