I read at Ferlinghetti’s
by 
I read at Ferlinghetti‘s City Lights in San Francisco’s North Beach;
A 57 year old little boy;
Moved in awe of the stacks of the great Beats boundary breakers, artistic rebels, geniuses who wrote as they lived knowing tomorrow isn’t given;
Me an insignificant thing still looking for my voice;
Could I find it at City Lights;
Still I read and unbelievably people listened;
I know this much–that I have to write;
Someone no doubt will judge whether its worth reading or even space in this device;
Sure I felt the still presence of Kerouac and Cassady and Ginsberg and Corso and of course Lawrence;
But what does that mean to me–searching for my voice, aching to be worth listening to;
Still I write.
Tags: city lights, city lights books, Ferlinghetti, jack kerouac, kerouac, Lawrence Ferlinghetti, neal cassady, poem, poems, poetry, stewart acuff
