Hiroshima dust

Rob Hack

Broke busted bored and beat jizzing to the sounds of jazz,

buddying up to Buddhism, elevating existentialism

the low lifes at the Angel Bar walk a mile for a Camel

or a Vickie Russell trick. Hunched over a naked lunch

adding-machine heir William Burroughs

invents a steam powered dildo then Mexico

in a Benzedrine haze puts a bullet in her

brain runs south for a stronger fix, Tangier cos

prison’s a tomb folds you up like a poem in a book.

Ginsberg Howls down San Francisco streets in a subterranean

dawn crossing himself Kerouac rockets down Highway 66

crossing the plains in search of himself but Jack loves only

his mother and whiskey dreams of a check shirt America

with a mystical vision of death drives a Mustang like a bullet.

That a Pontiac in your pocket? Muscle-car names are horses

and Indians buried at Wounded Knee and broken hearted

not fast as a land claim or an iron horse on a Cheyenne plain

what made Milwaukee famous made a good Indian dead.

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