A Poem to Coney Island
(best read in the voice of Allen Ginsberg)
Coney Island is very special place where the ghosts of dead lunatics and Easter bunnies that got made hover in an eternal cotton candy mirage.
It’s a nightmare held in broad daylight.
Coney Island is a poem written by sickly children.
Its summer void of all promise.
It’s where pastel colors admit their falsehood.
Thousands of bottle caps and plastic lids camouflage themselves into the natural grains of the sandy beach,
but the sun accentuates the oily film glistening on the water’s surface
as if to warn of it’s clever, adaptive lies.
But some, like us, come knowingly just to witness the ancient seaside clown.