Ginsberg’s Omelet, by Ron. Lavalette

Ginsberg’s Omelet
by Ron. Lavalette

This is the egg of the Void, ovoid, egg I have come to know these 20 years on frozen
  flats, in dreams of egg gone mad, unreachable egg, egg unbeaten by Time,
  unmapped in the flat gray clouded frypan of Imagination, egg unreal, uneaten
  eggshell egg—
This is the fork I choose to torture the egg, fork of my mother’s choosing, passing
  through generations, immigrant fork that travels from Prussia, come to rest on
  American Formica, Breakfast In America fork, Fork of Manhattan 2019, come to beat
  the egg for real, to make the mad yellow omelet of Century XXI, feed the starving
  mass of men standing and waiting to dig the secret bop-cabala of omelette breakfast
  staring up from the ooky yolky plate with sizzled bacon beside—
This is the milk of lost aspiration, squeezed from the unwilling tit, small milk, spilled,
  useless milk propped up by demonic farm subsidies devised by Washington to keep
  the dirty farmer poor, Milk of the Mother, pilfered mechanically, milk I remember
  from sour nights on the Plains, drifting toward unrequited Denver, lights whiter
  than mercury vapor under the odd sad laughing western omelet moon—
O Omelet of my soul, sweet yellow comrade omelet, come to me now, I am starved for
  your Grace, I await you now in early morning America

Inspiration Source: Allen Ginsberg’s HOWL (and other poems)

Ron. Lavalette is a very widely-published poet living on the Canadian border in Vermont’s Northeast Kingdom. His first chapbook, Fallen Away, is now available from Finishing Line Press and at all other standard outlets. His poetry and short prose has appeared extensively in journals, reviews, and anthologies ranging alphabetically from Able Muse and the Anthology of New England Poets through the World Haiku Review and Your One Phone Call. A reasonable sample of his published work can be viewed at EGGS OVER TOKYO:

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