We Are All Exposed To The Flash

If I Had A Soul I Sold It For Pretty Words If I Had A Body I Used It Up Spurting My Essence Allen Ginsberg Warns You Dont Follow My Path To Extinction

Who Burned Cigarette Holes In Their Arms Protesting The Narcotic Tobacco Haze Of Capitalism

You Can't Escape The Past In Paris, And Yet What's So Wonderful About It Is That The Past And Present Intermingle So Intangibly That It Doesn't Seem To Burden.

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 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.