Henry’s Elegy For Gregory Corso

March 26,1930-January 17, 2001

Hanging out with Gregory
in the forties
in New York City,

Henry’s suit was brown
like the colors of Central Park.
Gregory was a biker poet

before there were bikers.
Tough even on his friends,
a poet nonetheless.

And now we read
that he has died in Minnesota,
in the middle of winter,

his words laid out on the snow,
their edges sharp,
no two alike.

North Beach days gone,
Larry holding down the fort at City Lights,
Paris, city of the feminine shoulders seduced.

The literary ghosts are made
of solid metal
and you bounce off of them,

solid metal
that you
are, too!