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The Gurus of my Youth in Junk-Shop Myths – Sonnet Seventy-Eight

The gurus of my youth in junk-shop myths,    
In mid-night robes of thrift-store overcoats,  
In quart beer vulgate prophesies consist    
The mirror of their billboard soapbox hopes.    
    
Like Whitman’s ghost on D.C. streets ignores    
The calls of poets hungry 3 A.M.,    
The chill of Fall in Summer’s night deplores,    
That even he, our modern words condemn.    
   
Our journals filled with cursive runic prose,    
Expose our nature of mind’s deconstruct,    
Foucault and Derrida, their damned suppose    
That subtext held the key to all words’ flux.    
   
My aspirations as a writher seen    
As means of words that nothing truly mean.
Written by Hepcat61 (geoff cat)
Published
Author's Note
"writher" in line thirteen is intentional - the line "My Aspirations as a Rider" is from Tupac Shakur - so the joke was "my aspirations as a writer..." but in the spirit of the French New Wave critical theorists - "writher" as in one who writhes seems much closer to the life of a writer... You get it!? The story of seeing Whitman's ghost at the Jefferson Memorial at 3 am is from a college friend.

G
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