Those who can't find anything to live for,
always invent something to die for.
Then they want the rest of us to
die for it , too .
-Lew Welch
A Supermarket in California
What thoughts I have of you , Walt Whitman, for I walked down the sidestreets under the trees with a headache self-concious looking at the full moon
In my hungry fatigue, and shopping for images, I went into the neon fruit supermarket, dreaming of your enumerations!
What peaches and what penumbras! Whole families shopping at night! Aisles full of husbands! Wives in the avocados, babies in the tomatoes! -- And you, Garcia Lorca what were u doing down by the watermelons?
I saw you, Walt Whitman, childless, lonely old grubber, poking among the meats in the refrigerator and eyeing the grocery boys.
I heard you asking questions of each : Who killed the pork-chops? What price bananas? Are you my angel?
I wandered in and out of the brilliant stacks of cans following you, and followed by my imagination, by a store detective.
We strode down the open corridors together in our solitary fancy tasting artichokes , possessing every frozen delicacy, and never passing the cashier.
Where are we going Walt Whitman? The doors close in an hour. Which way does your beard point tonight?
(I touch your book and dream of our odyssey in the supermarket and feel absurd)
Will we walk all night through solitary streets? The trees add shade to shade, lights out in the houses, we'll both by lonely .
Will we stroll dreaming of our lost America of love past blue autmobiles in driveways , home to our silent cottage?
Ah, Dear father, graybeard, lonely old courage-teacher, what America did you have when Charon quit poling his ferry and you got on a smoking bank and stood watching the boat disappear on the black waters of Lethe?
-Allen Ginsberg
Her Sweet Weight on my Heart at Night
Her Sweet wight on my heart at night
Had scarcely deigned to lie-
When, stirring, for Beliefs delight,
My Bride had slipped away -if 'twas a dream-made solid- just
The Heaven to confirm-
Or it myself were dreamed of Her-
The power to preseume-with Him remain-who unto Me
Gave-evcn as to All-
As Ficiton superseding Faith-
By so much - as 'twas real-
-Emily Dickinson
