for Michelle Renee
I saw Ginsberg twice in NYC, once
a Beat reunion at the Small Press Fair.
Thirty feet away on stage, his gaze pounced
on Corso, seated drunk behind him, care-
less to his friend’s reading a bright poem
advising us about our writing. “Don’t
drink too much.” Corso flinched, line jabbing him
in slack jaw. He howled a “Fuck you!” I want-
ed to cry, but laughed. I saw the great one
again at Dean & Deluca, two years,
I think, before he died. He sat alone,
reading a book, sipping coffee, no fears
of being bothered. Now he’s in your painting,
seated in moon, back to us, meditating.
Roger Armbrust
April 12, 2010
