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

BOB RIXON

The Marshes By The Highway

A particular path

crosses a polluted tidal creek

where familiar monsters breed

in dark culverts.

A shopping cart in the mud

with a used syringe, limp condom,

a pair of socks, one shoe,

empty can of Colt 45,

worn tire nearby in the weeds,

an honest & visible pestilence.

A huge playground for rats

echoing genocide at high tide,

the Lenni Lenape Memorial

Arrowhead Collection

buried in fifty gallon drums

beside the late James Hoffa.

Somewhere along this great trading route

hidden by tall grasses & black muck,

we crouch near a small campfire

like silent night herons.

Whenever we barter this paradise

for the price of tomorrow's lunch,

we forget how we came here,

how we once spoke of ourselves,

burning our noble words with dead twigs.