I Kiss the Feet of Angels
By: A.D. Winans
dark stormy night fog creeping in over the hills raindrops falling on the window I see the faces of old friends staring at me ghosts from the past freight trains steam ships subway trains carrying their cargo of death Rimbaud the mad hatter Baudelaire Lorca fed a meal of bullets Kaufman black messiah walking Bourbon street eating a golden sardine Micheline drinking with Kerouac at the old Cedar Tavern Jesus wiping the perspiration from his forehead the fog horn plays a symphony inside my head I hear the drums I feel the Beat I kiss the feet of angels
You can find this poem in A.D. Winans — Drowning Like Li Po in a River of Red Wine
Thank you for this one. The older I get the more "ghosts from the past" I seem to encounter. Nice to know (as with most experiences in life) a poet has already been there before, and charted the waters.
https://www.sfgate.com/books/article/S-F-poet-AD-Winans-reflects-on-life-works-3721130.php
Winans said that there was basically no difference between his life and his poetry. I can feel that from this wonderful piece as I sense that I too am kissing “the feet of angels” tip-toeing through it line by exquisite line.