will lead me
through the tunnel
of light
into the light eternal
where i will become
one with my God
for whom my being
yearns lovingly
with all my might
now at the present
livingmoment.
(Graphic: Ruth saved to Imágenes Profeta pinterest.)

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this body,
and take the ashes
to the street
down in front of
the housing projects,
where people live
day to day,
moment to moment,
just trying to survive…
or you can take them
to the countries ravaged
by starvation,
and pour them out
on the side of the road
where families are dying…
or you can take them
to any street corner
in the world, where young
boys and girls are sold like meat,
and take your hands
and rub them on their ashen faces…
or you can take them
to Washington, DC,
to where the Congress
is meeting, and pour them
on the floor, each tiny flake
of ash screaming out for justice!

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God’s angels will spread
the carpet of roses
for me alone.
Angels will surround me.
I will walk the path
to the gates of heaven.
God will hug me and kiss me.
Heavenly chore will sing.
Heaven’s perfume will fill my soul
and my body will no more be there.
(Graphic: Romantic flower tunnel
Photo by JoyfulThailand on Getty Images)

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throw ashes in the air, scatter ’em in East River
bury an urn in Elizabeth New Jersey, B’nai Israel Cemetery
But l want a big funeral
St. Patrick’s Cathedral, St. Mark’s Church, the largest synagogue in
Manhattan
First, there’s family, brother, nephews, spry aged Edith stepmother
96, Aunt Honey from old Newark,
Doctor Joel, cousin Mindy, brother Gene one eyed one ear’d, sister-
in-law blonde Connie, five nephews, stepbrothers & sisters
their grandchildren,
companion Peter Orlovsky, caretakers Rosenthal & Hale, Bill Morgan–
Next, teacher Trungpa Vajracharya’s ghost mind, Gelek Rinpoche,
there Sakyong Mipham, Dalai Lama alert, chance visiting
America, Satchitananda Swami
Shivananda, Dehorahava Baba, Karmapa XVI, Dudjom Rinpoche,
Katagiri & Suzuki Roshi’s phantoms
Baker, Whalen, Daido Loorie, Qwong, Frail White-haired Kapleau
Roshis, Lama Tarchen —
Then, most important, lovers over half-century
Dozens, a hundred, more, older fellows bald & rich
young boys met naked recently in bed, crowds surprised to see each
other, innumerable, intimate, exchanging memories
‘He taught me to meditate, now I’m an old veteran of the thousand
day retreat –‘
‘I played music on subway platforms, I’m straight but loved him he
loved me’
‘I felt more love from him at 19 than ever from anyone’
‘We’d lie under covers gossip, read my poetry, hug & kiss belly to belly
arms round each other’
‘I’d always get into his bed with underwear on & by morning my
skivvies would be on the floor’
‘Japanese, always wanted take it up my bum with a master’
‘We’d talk all night about Kerouac & Cassady sit Buddhalike then
sleep in his captain’s bed.’
‘He seemed to need so much affection, a shame not to make him happy’
‘I was lonely never in bed nude with anyone before, he was so gentle my
stomach
shuddered when he traced his finger along my abdomen nipple to hips– ‘
‘All I did was lay back eyes closed, he’d bring me to come with mouth
& fingers along my waist’
‘He gave great head’
So there be gossip from loves of 1948, ghost of Neal Cassady commin-
gling with flesh and youthful blood of 1997
and surprise — ‘You too? But I thought you were straight!’
‘I am but Ginsberg an exception, for some reason he pleased me.’
‘I forgot whether I was straight gay queer or funny, was myself, tender
and affectionate to be kissed on the top of my head,
my forehead throat heart & solar plexus, mid-belly. on my prick,
tickled with his tongue my behind’
‘I loved the way he’d recite ‘But at my back allways hear/ time’s winged
chariot hurrying near,’ heads together, eye to eye, on a
pillow –‘
Among lovers one handsome youth straggling the rear
‘I studied his poetry class, 17 year-old kid, ran some errands to his
walk-up flat,
seduced me didn’t want to, made me come, went home, never saw him
again never wanted to… ‘
‘He couldn’t get it up but loved me,’ ‘A clean old man.’ ‘He made
sure I came first’
This the crowd most surprised proud at ceremonial place of honor–
Then poets & musicians — college boys’ grunge bands — age-old rock
star Beatles, faithful guitar accompanists, gay classical con-
ductors, unknown high Jazz music composers, funky trum-
peters, bowed bass & french horn black geniuses, folksinger
fiddlers with dobro tamborine harmonica mandolin auto-
harp pennywhistles & kazoos
Next, artist Italian romantic realists schooled in mystic 60’s India,
Late fauve Tuscan painter-poets, Classic draftsman Massa-
chusets surreal jackanapes with continental wives, poverty
sketchbook gesso oil watercolor masters from American
provinces
Then highschool teachers, lonely Irish librarians, delicate biblio-
philes, sex liberation troops nay armies, ladies of either sex
‘I met him dozens of times he never remembered my name I loved
him anyway, true artist’
‘Nervous breakdown after menopause, his poetry humor saved me
from suicide hospitals’
‘Charmant, genius with modest manners, washed sink, dishes my
studio guest a week in Budapest’
Thousands of readers, ‘Howl changed my life in Libertyville Illinois’
‘I saw him read Montclair State Teachers College decided be a poet– ‘
‘He turned me on, I started with garage rock sang my songs in Kansas
City’
‘Kaddish made me weep for myself & father alive in Nevada City’
‘Father Death comforted me when my sister died Boston l982’
‘I read what he said in a newsmagazine, blew my mind, realized
others like me out there’
Deaf & Dumb bards with hand signing quick brilliant gestures
Then Journalists, editors’s secretaries, agents, portraitists & photo-
graphy aficionados, rock critics, cultured laborors, cultural
historians come to witness the historic funeral
Super-fans, poetasters, aging Beatnicks & Deadheads, autograph-
hunters, distinguished paparazzi, intelligent gawkers
Everyone knew they were part of ‘History’ except the deceased
who never knew exactly what was happening even when I was alive
February 22, 1997

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is being taken out
you must never think
i am missing this world
don’t shed any tears
don’t lament or
feel sorry
i’m not falling
into a monster’s abyss
when you see
my corpse is being carried
don’t cry for my leaving
i’m not leaving
i’m arriving at eternal love
when you leave me
in the grave
don’t say goodbye
remember a grave is
only a curtain
for the paradise behind
you’ll only see me
descending into a grave
now watch me rise
how can there be an end
when the sun sets or
the moon goes down
it looks like the end
it seems like a sunset
but in reality it is a dawn
when the grave locks you up
that is when your soul is freed
have you ever seen
a seed fallen to earth
not rise with a new life
why should you doubt the rise
of a seed named human
have you ever seen
a bucket lowered into a well
coming back empty
why lament for a soul
when it can come back
like Joseph from the well
when for the last time
you close your mouth
your words and soul
will belong to the world of
no place no time

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To his love,
Your love,
Will go with me
To wherever,
I shall be,
Your love,
The only thing
I ever wanted
The only treasure,
I ever had,
I will take it
With me,
For your love
Is, you see,
My immortality.

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And singular becomes plural
But when ‘plural’ becomes ‘singular’
Love is born.
Oh! What paradox!

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When I die
when my coffin
is being taken out
you must never think
i am missing this world

don’t shed any tears
don’t lament or
feel sorry
i’m not falling
into a monster’s abyss

when you see
my corpse is being carried
don’t cry for my leaving
i’m not leaving
i’m arriving at eternal love

when you leave me
in the grave
don’t say goodbye
remember a grave is
only a curtain
for the paradise behind

you’ll only see me
descending into a grave
now watch me rise
how can there be an end
when the sun sets or
the moon goes down

it looks like the end
it seems like a sunset
but in reality it is a dawn
when the grave locks you up
that is when your soul is freed

have you ever seen
a seed fallen to earth
not rise with a new life
why should you doubt the rise
of a seed named human

have you ever seen
a bucket lowered into a well
coming back empty
why lament for a soul
when it can come back
like Joseph from the well

when for the last time
you close your mouth
your words and soul
will belong to the world of
no place no time

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Your email address will not be published.