for the poets of North Beach

shiny smudged fingerprints and angel infused Light

adorned the Beach Poets,

clutching shabby black white pages

destined to rip out this entire BayCity-

hobbling thru swingin Fresno Street Green Tavern’s Doors

entering those salty Chesterfield malt horizons

spilling all over Jack London cherrywood whiskey counters

hundreds of miles from Kesey Oregon yogurt farms,

these Beat Poets

persisted in escaping from stagnation

like convicts.

no, there could be no return to sanity for those Top Tobacco wanderers

who bravely stared down horrific beatific Dreams,

who chose to not turn their backs from sounds of climax, conflict, irony,

who continually throttled their hip skepticism

wherever virgin blank pages spoonfused together.

meanwhile somewhere nearby,

the Alcatraz Sea lingered onward,

stretching out toward the secluded Chinese Moon Ocean…

and as Kerouac prophesized,

a crescent wave now swallows half the earth.

still, dauntless yet mindful,

the Beach Poets keep on spinning,

unwinding, directionless, germane,

oblivious and indifferent to wherever they land,

inside or outside moldy brick basement walls,

above or below these clotheslined tightrope eternity backyards nearby.