When It Snows In Your Nose, You

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.

The First Person Who Really Showed Me The Ugly Spirit Was Brion Gysin. "the Ugly Spirit Shot Joan Because . . ." And I Never Found Out Why. This Brion Wrote Out On A Piece Of Paper In A Sort Of Trance State.

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.

The Censorship Of Language Is The Censorship Of Consciousness.

Naked In Solitary Prison Cell He Looks Down At A Hard-on.