as ever,

i just finished As Ever, the collected correspondence of Allen Ginsberg and Neal Cassady. the first letter is dated January 1947 and the last April 1967. this is what i think:

twenty years of letters, lust, Zen and prison.
how long can we hold onto our youth?

until we let it go?

or

until we realize that nothing important
ever grows old or changes.

(i'm going to meet a one-shoed Moldovan
who cried last night over the death of her friend's cat,
declined credit cards and graves
in lieu of cremation)
she asked me why i read the book.

i said:

for fun,
because it's there,
because it's a testament
to the endurance of friendship,
how lovers of youth
can age with grace,

and not go fleeing
from amphetamine-stained sheets
into the San Francisco night.

how to let go of those that leave us,
and love them just the same.