I know I’m obsessed with sunflowers, but I’m a little bit in love with this old man sunflower I found in Belmar, NJ on Saturday. I was walking to my car when I passed it and needed to stop to grab a picture. There’s something so frail and delicate about a dying sunflower.
It’s no secret that Allen Ginsberg is my spirit poet. (Yes, I’m making up that phrase.) I first came across his poetry as a teenager and quickly fell in love with the Beat Generation.
In high school, I used to carry a picture of Allen Ginsberg around with me, until my dog ate it. I spent hours trying to memorize all of Howl and later got more than one tattoo commemorating my love for this poem, and others, written by my favorite New Jerseyan. Continue reading Sunflower Sutra