What thoughts I have of you tonight, Walt Whitman
you walk in the supermarket with your long-sleeved dress as if walking down the isle,
I see you changing your pace, do you know I have longed?
no groceries and no grocery boys in sight, you can do the shopping for me and I’ll do the shopping for you.
scattered letters fill my mind instead of price tags, I’ll leave you, master, toy with them;
fruit and vegetables are dying, but it’s our atrophy I’m worried about; what will we eat? besides each other.
who will ever know we were here, marking our brief nocturnal visit to the underworld of mankind
where they buy consume buy consume buy consume buy buy buy
it’s Christmas. buy some more. love is in the air. buy again. it’s the Apocalypse. have I bought enough? it’s Halloween. buy yourself a mask to cover the dirt.
can we desert the desserts and the candies and find our way out of the labyrinth?
I see you tender, a delightful timid charm with poetic endeavors and bohemian ways, delicately distant.
take my hand, please master
Where are we going, my Whitman? Which way does your beard point tonight?
is it towards the cemetery where vampires and the dead don’t shop?
is it towards the sawing machine where we stitched ourselves back together and declared war to vitamins and the whole pharmaceutical industry and the lazy meat and the deceased fungus and the deplorable mushrooms and the smothered cucumbers?
is it towards the bicycle that sleeps tonight and never seems to wake?
if it points towards the writers, the troubadours, the beatniks, the poets, the wreaking havoc little beings, the confused, the doomed, the chancellors of grace, the sovereigns of Emersonian will, let them live and burn the rest.
as we shoplift glances on our way home, you consume me and wear me whole and I saw a smiling needle.
the sawing machines who ate our dresses are satiated now but we’re hungry for more. are we?
please master wear your dress in indifference, I have stopped crying out your name I do not love you please Master
*Please note this is an original work inspired by (and borrowing few lines from) the two poems listed in the title which you may find below:
A Supermarket in California by Allen Ginsberg
Please Master by Allen Ginsberg