pancakes. dranks. paint. sad fans. blazing heat. ice cream. i wonder - what would ginsbeerg and kerouac think
if they were here today? would they dig this scroll
at the mercy of all the feverish fingers
of a new east village generation?
would they hold the hands of lovers
they loved clandestinely 60 yrs ago?
and would they dig us - the post-modern "mad ones"
eating ice cream, reading their books,
planning november trips to mexico,
singing ukelele-syrummed beatles songs,
talking softly, heads bowed, hearts bared,
and learning what it means to love each other?