I Didn't Know The Names Of The

In My Dreams You Walk Dripping From A Sea Journey On The Highway Across America In Tears To The Door Of My Cottage In The Western Night

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.

My Books Piled Up Before Me For My Use Waiting In Space Where I Placed Them, They Haven't Disappeared, Time's Left Its Remnants And Qualities For Me To Use -- My Words Piled Up, My Texts, My Manuscripts, My Loves.

The Hero Surviving His Own Murder, His Own Suicide, His Own Addiction, Surviving His Own Disappearance From The Scene

It's Very Much Related To The American Tycoon. To William Randolph Hearst, Vanderbilt, Rockefeller, That Whole Stratum Of American Acquisitive Evil. Monopolistic, Acquisitive Evil. Ugly Evil. The Ugly American. The Ugly American At His Ugly Worst. That's Exactly What It Is.