Who can live with this Consciousness and not wake frightened at sunrise?
A poem is like a radio that can broadcast continuously for thousands of years.
We are all exposed to the flash bulb of death.
I saw the best minds of my generation destroyed by madness, starving hysterical naked, dragging themselves through the negro streets at dawn looking for an angry fix angelheaded hipsters burning for the ancient heavenly connection to the starry dynamo in the machinery of the night.
Democracy! Bah! When I hear that I reach for my feather boa!
The only thing that can save the world is the reclaiming of the awareness of the world. That's what poetry does. By poetry I mean the imagining of what has been lost and what can be found - the imagining of who we are and the slow realization of it.