What thoughts I have of you tonight,
Walt Whitman,
for I walked down the side streets under the trees
With a headache self conscious looking at the full moon.
Dreaming of your enumerations!
I saw you, Walt Whitman! childish old man walking among the aisles.
Where are we going, Walt Whitman?
Will we walk all night through solitary streets?
The trees add shade to shade, lights out in the houses,
We will both be lonely
Will we stroll dreaming of the lost America of love, past blue automobiles,
home to our silent cottage?
Are you my Angel?
Walt Whitman,
Write poems for me!
"Selections", Allen Ginsberg 1954

I don’t ever want to forget
What it was like
In that cement jungle

It devoured all that entered
Spitting out the remnants
Of lost dreams and broken things

And I think it devoured us, too
Now I know
Why they told us not to stay

Because
The wails and laughter
Awoke something inside

I could tell you felt it too
Creeping out of the dirt floor
Something

It was a sadness
A cry that could be heard above the wails
And could not be silenced by the dirt

We left, broken
Leaving the children
But taking the dirt and the rain

And the knowledge that I could survive
A shattered heart, a broken body, death, loss, grief, failure,

If I could poses
One ounce
Of that courage

Belonging to the 6 year old girl
With the black hair and
Wise brown eyes

Who played with my bracelets and braided my hair
Singing, laughing, crying, dying


In that concrete beast of an orphanage