for the Firefly Cafe

If I want to scream
I sit my whispers down
on Pacific and Laurel
prepare them for the long walk home
they won’t survive here

If I want to scream
I follow the shutters of voices
behind coffeeshop windows
resisting the lonliness of truth
however ugly she may be
we’re not afraid of her

These are the ghosts of the present
who carry her in both arms
Gregory Corso reincarnated in Leon
ticking away at those gasoline bombs
Anne Waldman in her prime
f***ing Lester Bangs as Eugenia licks her lips
the monotone gentleness of
improvisational thought
that birthed Andy Warhol’s Factory
seen through the parting light of Eric
and a sort of Rimbaud riding shotgum
on the Cadillac ride to nowhere
90 miles an hour and overheating
with Christopher
and if Pablo cries a tear
out from the beautiful eyes
of broken words
we all do
because that is how
a scream is born