Truth is dissent, where all power resides in the Big Lie.
Who can live with this Consciousness and not wake frightened at sunrise?
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.
The soul is innocent and immortal, it should never die ungodly in an armed madhouse.
None of us understand what we're doing, but we do beautiful things anyway.
I am learning by the week, but my poesy is still not my own. New rhyme, new me me me in words. I am not all this carven rhetoric.