'US IN TWILIGHT' (guest poet)

I have a friend. An elitist, Oxford-educated buddy named Edoardo who constantly scoffs at the very existence of certain pop culture mainstays. We could argue that worth of scribes like Kerouac and Corso for hours. Long heated hours. Still, he's a classic guy. A scholar. Interesting that he would drum up such a dreamy, beatnicky poem. I dug it so much, I had to post it. Enjoy...



"Us In Twilight"
I dig with two hands
but digging is a nod of the head
to a jazz riff
and a smile at the girl
curled up like smoke from dead
cigarettes. She can't dig;
leaving the hands nothing to do
but rest in stiff pockets
in tightening jeans. Dig.
Attitudes don't work
or can't or won't.
Thank God for my hands.
I have my fathers hands.
I can work if I need to. Dig?
Me and my youth-
we once knew wonder
but now we scoff at truth
and jump at thunder.
But always there, like a familiar song
I dig. The jazz, the chick, the me that's gone.

- Edoardo Mungiello, April 18, 2008