If All Poems Were Limericks: “Howl” by Allen Ginsberg (continued)

Read Part 1 here.

The hipsters, like tygers, burn bright
for a link to the gears of the night.
They contemplate jazz,
and their poverty has
raised them over the rooftops in flight.

They’ve opened their skulls to the sky
beneath where the El trundles by,
while angels on junk
or just staggering drunk
cross campus with radiant cool eyes.


Happy birthday to Allen Ginsberg, who would have been 95 today.

Read the rest of “Howl” here. (These limericks cover roughly lines 3-6.)

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