Voices on the Wind Voices on Aging
there are memories on Beat Street tonight by jacob erin-cilberto the slowest taps, Ferlinghetti is still alive, he hits keys as if on a manual Corona and drinks one that wets his coaster mind the words don't come so easily at ninety-something i saw my parents slow down, they're poetry of movement diminished fewer words necessary, a stance, more horizontal on sunny days love doesn't regress it just moves in tortoise fashion but still gets to conclusion Lawrence lies awake i'm sure dreaming of his orations of past prolific meanderings and University bows my parents lie together now in ashen hue, eternal dreaming their love song still playing in my mind i'd like to talk to Lawrence once, before he joins them, i am sure his ancient eyes would release to me words he's long forgotten how to express, i would be richer for the glimpse of him my fingers would take one final fast dance before waltzing into a stone crypt my computer decomposing much of what i used to remember and write quickly before i forget.