you whitewashed my indian summer blank.
(or blanc.)
torn from leaves i became a poet
and i began a career of procrastination
as a litterbug.
i leave poems on subways and i drop words in

Brooklyn Heights.
i am all the poetry is.
coffee and tic-tac mints. Cummings
and Whitman. and
maybe i am not a “beatnik”
but i try.
Ginsberg. Kerouac. Cassady.
they are all my favorites.
C. B. Miller. K. C. Surrell.
i ate Burroughs for breakfast
followed by my first print of Naked Lunch.
i let letters linger in coffeehouses and i
speak in poetic beat.
you whitewashed my indian summer blank.
(and i thank you.)