The Lordly and Isolate Satyrs

Various recent events–some conversations, listening to a few l ocal performance poets in person and their CDs– Moose Jackson in particular–put me in mind of the Beat angels, the people Kerouac described as “mad to live, made to talk, mad to be saved, desirous of everything at the same time, the ones that never yawn or say a commonplace thing, but burn, burn, burn like fabulous yellow roman candles exploding like spiders across the stars and in the middle you see the blue centerlight pop and ev