I want people to bow as they see me and say he is gifted with poetry, he has seen the presence of the creator.
Artificial trees, robot sofas,Ignorant cars-One Way Street to Heaven
Scream in despair over Meat and Metal Microphone
I saw you, Walt Whitman, childless, lonely old grubber,poking among the meats in the refrigerator and eyeing the grocery boys. I heard you asking questions of each: Who killed the pork chops?What pric...
Robots pencil prescriptions for acid gas sunsets
Who wept at the romance of the streets with their pushcarts full of onions and bad music, who sat in boxes breathing in the darkness under the bridge, and rose up to build harpsichords in their lofts
Washing terror-waves round earth-globe back to suburb TV home night kitchens
A communist conspiracy among the youth ... speakers on campuses/trained to condition idealistic brains
Unless Chase Bank quits I prophesy blood violence
The hero surviving his own murder, his own suicide, his own addiction, surviving his own disappearance from the scene
The grime was no man’s grime but death and human locomotives,all that dress of dust, that veil of darkened railroad skin, that smog of cheek, that eyelid of black mis’ry, that sooty hand or phallus or...
I feel my life is sterile, I am unbloomed, unused, I have nothing I can have that I will ever want, only some love, only dearness and tenderness, to make me weep. I am moved now and sad and unhappy be...
I don’t want to suffer any more, I have had my mind broken open over and over before, I have been isolate and loveless always. I have not slept with anyone since I saw you, not because I was faithful...
America when will we end the human war?Go fuck yourself with your atom bomb
A missle lost Unprogrammed
Who sought heaven under a mountain of stone, sat thinking till he realized the land of blessedness existsin the imagination
The madman bum and angel beat in Time, unknown, yet putting down here what might be left to say in time come after death, and rose reincarnate in the ghostly clothes of jazz in the goldhorn shadow of...
He threw up his handsand wrote the Universe dont existand died to prove it
Where are we going, Walt Whitman? The doors close in an hour. Which way does your beard point tonight? (I touch your book and dream of our odyssey in the supermarket and feel absurd.) Will we walk a...
What peaches and what penumbras! Whole families shopping at night! Aisles full of husbands! Wives in the avocados, babies in the tomatoes!--and you, Garcia Lorca, what were you doing down by the water...