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and Rachel Lindsay. On the Isle of the Queen we had a long evening's conversation Then he tucked me in my long red underwear under a silken blanket by the fire on the sofa gave me English dottle and went off sadly to his bed, Saying ah Ginsberg I am glad to have met a fine young man like you. At last, I woke ashamed of myself. Is he that good and kind? Am I that great? What's my motive dreaming his manna? What English Department would that impress? What failure to be perfect prophet's made up here? I dream of my kindness to T.S. Eliot wanting to be a historical poet and share in his finance of Imagery- overambitious dream of eccentric boy. God forbid my evil dreams come true. Last nite I dreamed of Allen Ginsberg. T.S. Eliot would've been ashamed of me. a lot of mouths and cocks, under the world there's a lot of come, and a lot of saliva dripping into brooks, There's a lot of Shit under the world, flowing beneath cities into rivers, a lot of urine floating under the world, a lot of snot in the world's industrial nostrils, sweat under world's iron arm, blood gushing out of the world's breast, endless lakes of tears, seas of sick vomit rushing between the hemispheres floating towards Sargasso, old oily rags and brake fluids, human gasoline-- Under the world there's pain, fractured thighs, napalm burning in black hair, phosphorus eating elbows to bone insectiside contaminating oceantide, plastic dolls floating across Atlantic, Toy soldiers crowding the Pacific, B-52 bombers choking jungle air with vaportrails and brilliant flares Robot drones careening over rice terraces dropping cluster grenades, plastic pellets spray into flesh, dragontooth mines & jellied fires fall on straw roofs and water buffalos, perforating village huts with barbed shrapnel, trenchpits filled with fuel-gas-poisen'd explosive powders-- Under the world there's broken skulls, crushed feet, cut eyeballs, severed fingers, slashed jaws, Dysentry, homeless millions, tortured hearts, empty souls. Dawn's orb orange-raw shining over Palisades bare crowded branches bush up from marshes-- New Jersey with my father riding automobile highway to Newark Airport-- Empire State's spire, horned buildingtops, Manhattan rising as in W. C. Williams' eyes between wire trestles-- trucks sixwheeled steady rolling overpass beside New York-- I am here tiny under sun rising in vast white sky, staring thru skeleton new buildings, with pen in hand awake ...
~18~


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