NO MATTER, OH BEAT

No matter, Oh Man, O Beat,
my Whitman children
get on your feet
you who witness for justice
or with a kiss of peace
sing out,young or octogenarian
in a Gregorian or zen chant
or if you a April Fool's truant
skipping school for the sun
let's move on the dance floor
with a wonderful kiss
scattering as jazz riffs run,
we are no like that lost pigeon
who took our secret love messages
from state to state
now missing from this slate roof
without a forwarding address
we have not yet found him
in this April darkness
without any proof of his mate
but if he asks we will say,"Yes",
nor are we Beats hung up
on the rungs of a ladder
by merely being a Rodin sculpture
and not moving madly
in a Paris adventure
rather we are free  to request
an invite or free bite
for any guest in the counter-culture
for what matters is language
in eating up the pursuit of truth
this night
from a cup of wine or vermouth,
to be a choice clairvoyant
with an ear like Rumi
or Van Gogh
with a dissonant voice we know
will in the future
be on the street a clear dissenter
to romance, sing or jam jazz
on a sleeve of underbrush snow
sounding our airs on a wing
abounding like a troubadour
to shape every geometric word
as we make it on the dance floor
having a caress of understanding
from lovers showing on swings
or brushed by on bare trees
on the First of April spring,
hearing Ginsberg's epiphany
of Kaddish and "Howl"
read by a student
with flower power from her lips
who rushes to stay here
to be clear and have cover
hides in a landscape nest of birds
among birds and owls
to escape with her runaway life
out to San Francisco
rather to have her name
in an adolescent gossip column
saying she was on an energy trip
to escape her father's solemnity
from all his wealthy friends
for Marie does not wish
to go to cotillion's high society
or to be a restless celebrity
and live constantly
for daddy who appears
weekly on a T.V. comedy
but for herself to make amends.