. . . I shouldnt speak

“I saw the best minds of my generation destroyed by madness, starving hysterical naked, / dragging themselves through the negro streets at dawn looking for an angry fix, / . . .” AG

The words come easy during the slow periods with little to do and lesser distraction
I dont care for his attitude.
I watch for lumbering shapes
of genius on every street corner
begging for forgiveness or compassion
I hope the shadow will forgive my abrasive
attitude and quick dodging glance
encounters. As I half waved-smiled and hurried toward some new
distraction which only flittered through my mind for a second gone
now his intensity breathes life into the ghosts he was untouchable above us
I dreamed. The thoughtful intensity sent him shattered all directions mirror sharp edges cut my mind’s hand cold tears linger at the fringes
he appears on the corners every dark skinned man brings the guilt I did
no nothing is forgivable, but I am not
I mocked and ridiculed grateful he accepted my weak excuses
I desire his intensity
his passion even when it was misguided


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