What thoughts I have of you tonight Allen

Ginsberg, for I strolled through Harlem

gazing upon Angel-headed hipsters

meditating on the great yellow rose in your

brain.

In my unquenchable thirst, and desperate for

the caffeination of a Beat, I entered the

brooding café for penance when the light

appeared, casting me into your reality.

What dark roasts and waking death! Whole

realities brewing in pots. Jars of individual

Buddha beans! Communes of Sangha

grinds, mouthfuls of Dharma! – and you, Mr.

Burroughs, what were you doing with a shot of espresso?

I saw you, Allen Ginsberg, enlightened,

solitary, ageless father, poking among the

jars of java eyeing them as if each were a

shrine to you.

I heard you inquire each aloud: Can I buy

you with words? Will you stain my

Homework? Are you Person?

I followed you out of man's expectations

through your contention, into hallowed

purgatory.

We meandered through mediocrity sampling

half decent coffee in our new home, stuck in

a semi-conscious daze.

Where are we going, Allen Ginsberg? Dawn

approaches and we are down to our last sip,

which way is We going?

Will we come to a crossroad as the first light

of day appears? The wastebaskets made of

money line the streets, making us feel worth

our weight in thought.

Will we be content when we crash, or will

we tweak as if Junkie were an ode to us.

Ah dear maddened father, teacher of self,

messenger of Buddha, when was the last

time you passed out on a curb in Harlem?

Andrew Glackin

Age 16, Grade 11

Phillipsburg High School

Phillipsburg School District