Classic Poem

We had just got thrown out of the Melrose,
were making junk poems out of junk lives,
midnight, waitresses, cop stops, corner punks
when we started north on Broad and I realized
how fast you were walking, and always did,
always two steps ahead of me, speed-walking
before the name. Then you and Dan
went to Montreal and dropped paisley-something
and hallucinated rainbows. Great colors,
Dan said, so you pulled out your Nikon
and snapped and snapped. As he reminded you
it was just a hallucination you said
Yeah, but this is a really good camera.
Then New Years Eve, grabbing my arm
in mid-flashback on the El
you asked me if this was what death was like—
A record suddenly skipping —
and me telling you Calm down, it’s like nothing.
Well, fuck me again. You’re still ahead.
Burnt picture in a bronze gong,
a still life in ash, then in water
when she sprinkles you into the Ganges.
Head south, spread out,
go where the mind goes when the body is gone.