Who Burned Cigarette Holes In

A Poem Is Like A Radio That Can Broadcast Continuously For Thousands Of Years.

So I Had A Choice Between Going To A Jail Or Going To A Bughouse Like A Nice Young Middle-class Student. So I Chose To Go To A Very Polite Mental Hospital. When I Left Eight Months Later, They Said, 'you Were Never Psychotic. You Were Just An Average Neurotic.'

No Monster Vibration, No Snake Universe Hallucinations. Many Tiny Jeweled Violet Flowers Along The Path Of A Living Brook That Looked Like Blake's Illustration For A Canal In Grassy Eden: Huge Pacific Watery Shore, Orlovsky Dancing Naked Like Shiva Long-haired Before Giant Green Waves, Titanic Cliffs That Wordsworth Mentioned In His Own Sublime, Great Yellow Sun Veiled With Mist Hanging Over The Planet's Oceanic Horizon. No Harm.

You Can't Photograph Everything.

I Think It Was When I Ran Into Kerouac And Burroughs - When I Was 17 - That I Realized I Was Talking Through An Empty Skull... I Wasn't Thinking My Own Thoughts Or Saying My Own Thoughts.