Poem of the Day 3/3/21

I want to be-

As Ginsberg described Dylan-

Transformed into a column of air,

No longer substantial, but only movement.

Then I could rage down 9th Street,

The way the winds once did on cold winter mornings,

Forcing us to pull up our coats up against that fury

And roll our cigarettes inside sheltered pockets.

I could sweep coolly over Cooper Square,

Tumbling, the way we once did,

Drunk with youth and whisky,

Racing to wherever it is that spring breezes go.

I could be some weary sailor’s salvation then.

I could be the song not the singer then.

I could be only the whisper, soft against your ear.

If I were transformed to a column of air.


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