[For Allen Ginsberg]
As the light burned down, Allen Ginsberg died
In a time with no difference between
Heaven and Hell. Angels on his mouth cried
And gristle butterflies scratched out a scream.
In a time with no difference between
Genius/Madness, his chrysalis split
And gristle butterflies scratched out. A scream
Of life in junk-rattle ruins blessed it.
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