Our Heads Are Round So

Scientist Alone Is True Poet.

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 Watermelons?

Strange Now To Think Of You, Gone Without Corsets & Eyes, While I Walk On The Sunny Pavement Of Greenwich Village. Downtown Manhattan, Clear Winter Noon, And I've Been Up All Night, Talking, Talking, Reading The Kaddish Aloud, Listening To Ray Charles Blues Shout Blind On The Phonograph

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.

A Naked Lunch Is Natural To Us We Eat Reality Sandwiches. But Allegories Are So Much Lettuce. Don't Hide The Madness.