Poor Lawrence Ferlinghetti!
Still stuck in whatever year it was that Neal Cassidy died.
I wrote a beat poem once. I got over it.
Ferlinghetti, he just
writes what he knows, I guess.
Last this, last that. Last poet of a beat-gone generation.
Last man standing, last crow croaking.
Ol Larry he sounds like first man groaning.
Carry Larry up the tracks.
This railroad’s hit the end of the line.
The last line. The first line for Larry
who never got off.
Bummer.
(This was written in response to this sad, tired tripe from Old Beatnik Lawrence Ferlinghetti.)