H e a r t S o n s & H e a r t D a u g h t e r s of A l l e n G i n s b e r g

N a p a l m H e a l t h S p a : R e p o r t 2 0 1 4 : A r c h i v e s E d i t i o n

DAVID COPE

Blinding snow freeway rush hour

makin’ a buck––damn fool in black pickup giant flag hanging off

his rear races thru like it’s a sunny day in July an’ there ain’t

no tomorrow––cars fishtailing in his wake,

semis bearing down, flying over bridge no time to check the river––

surely the whitelined oaks gotta be something to see––

strange time to be working, always been my

pass out on the couch or bop to the Duke flippin’ burgers or singing

in the shower––big slowdown now, lotta red lights ahead.

a good time, home alone, 3 hours, dozing, waking

prep to coming for readings, poetry impresario in a bowler hat,

how gather young poets’ manuscripts for xerox?

lotta work there––wonder if Antler’ll let me

take 3 stanzas from Skyscraper Apocalypse, if I can afford Paria

Canyon photo in color on cover? should I give these kids

Kerouac, Ginso now? off the freeway, skidding

thru lights to park––cellphones now going off in class,

we sit & contemplate snowfall over the city, lights winking

in towers beyond this window, even snakelike

traffic muted on choked roads beyond, thousands stopped dead

with tired limbs, empty stomachs, loved ones visible only

in memory, fingers rapping on wheel for home.