A PRAYER FOR GREGORY CORSO
Time to find out
how you might like it
if we chunked you out of your coffin
like you suggested doing
with Kerouac. The fondest things
you ever said
always came back
to haunt you. Like all poets
should die young, like atom bombs
make Death happy. Your shroud
should flow at your feet like the words
that tumbled from your lips in youth;
your coffin should be made
of copper flashing and construction paper. Your grave
should be a sealed glass box, open to the public
for all to see the corpse
that no longer contains the spirit
of Gregory Corso. We shall sing
a very unhappy birthday to death
in our loudest voices and out of key
all day long and into the night. We want Death to know
that we have him figured out. We want Death to know
he doesn't matter to us now. We want Death to know
that we are glad you were alive.
James MacFarlane Williams