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 night,
who poverty and tatters and hollow-eyed and high sat up smoking
in the supernatural darkness of cold-water flats floating
across the tops of cities contemplating jazz,
who bared their brains to Heaven under the El and saw
Mohammedan angels staggering on tenement roofs
illuminated,
who passed through universities with radiant cool eyes
hallucinating Arkansas and Blake-light tragedy among the
scholars of war,
who were expelled from the academies for crazy & publishing
obscene odes on the windows of the skull,
who cowered in unshaven rooms in underwear, burning their
money in wastebaskets and listening to the Terror through
the wall,
who got busted in their pubic beards returning through Laredo
with a belt of marijuana for New York,
who ate fire in paint hotels or drank turpentine in Paradise
Alley, death, or purgatoried their torsos night after night
with dreams, with drugs, with waking nightmares, alcohol and
cock and endless balls,
incomparable blind streets of shuddering cloud and lightning in
the mind leaping toward poles of Canada & Paterson,
illuminating all the motionless world of Time between,
Peyote solidities of halls, backyard green tree cemetery dawns,
wine drunkenness over the rooftops, storefront boroughs of
teahead joyride neon blinking traffic light, sun and moon
and tree vibrations in the roaring winter dusks of Brooklyn,
ashcan rantings and kind king light of mind,
who chained themselves to subways for the endless ride from
Battery to holy Bronx on benzedrine until the noise of
wheels and children brought them down shuddering
mouth-wracked and battered bleak of brain all drained of
brilliance in the drear light of Zoo,
who sank all night in submarine light of Bickford’s floated out
and sat through the stale beer afternoon in desolate
Fugazzi’s, listening to the crack of doom on the hydrogen
jukebox,
who talked continuously seventy hours from park to pad to bar to
Bellevue to museum to the Brooklyn Bridge,
a lost battalion of platonic conversationalists jumping down the
stoops off fire escapes off windowsills of Empire State out
of the moon,
yacketayakking screaming vomiting whispering facts and
memories and anecdotes and eyeball kicks and shocks of
hospitals and jails and wars,
whole intellects disgorged in total recall for seven days and
nights with brilliant eyes, meat for the Synagogue cast on
the pavement,
who vanished into nowhere Zen New Jersey leaving a trail of
ambiguous picture postcards of Atlantic City Hall,
suffering Eastern sweats and Tangerian bone-grindings and
migraines of China under junk-withdrawal in Newark’s bleak
furnished room,
who wandered around and around at midnight in the railroad
yard wondering where to go, and went, leaving no broken
hearts,
who lit cigarettes in boxcars boxcars boxcars racketing
through snow toward lonesome farms in grandfather night,
who studied Plotinus Poe St. John of the Cross telepathy and
bop kabbalah because the cosmos instinctively vibrated at
their feet in Kansas, who loned it through the streets of
Idaho seeking visionary indian angels who were visionary
indian angels,
who thought they were only mad when Baltimore gleamed in
supernatural ecstasy,
who jumped in limousines with the Chinaman of Oklahoma on
the impulse of winter midnight streetlight smalltown rain,
who lounged hungry and lonesome through Houston seeking jazz
or sex or soup, and followed the brilliant Spaniard to
converse about America and Eternity, a hopeless task, and
so took ship to Africa,
who disappeared into the volcanoes of Mexico leaving behind
nothing but the shadow of dungarees and the lava and ash of
poetry scattered in fireplace Chicago,
who reappeared on the West Coast investigating the FBI in
beards and shorts with big pacifist eyes sexy in their dark
skin passing out incomprehensible leaflets,
who burned cigarette holes in their arms protesting the
narcotic tobacco haze of Capitalism,
who distributed Supercommunist pamphlets in Union Square
weeping and undressing while the sirens of Los Alamos
wailed them down, and wailed down Wall, and the Staten
Island ferry also wailed,
who broke down crying in white gymnasiums naked and
trembling before the machinery of other skeletons,
who bit detectives in the neck and shrieked with delight in
policecars for committing no crime but their own wild
cooking pederasty and intoxication,
who howled on their knees in the subway and were dragged off
the roof waving genitals and manuscripts,
who let themselves be fucked in the ass by saintly motorcyclists,
and screamed with joy,
who blew and were blown by those human seraphim, the sailors,
caresses of Atlantic and Caribbean love,
who balled in the morning in the evenings in rosegardens and
the grass of public parks and cemeteries scattering their
semen freely to whomever come who may,
who hiccuped endlessly trying to giggle but wound up with a sob
behind a partition in a Turkish Bath when the blond & naked
angel came to pierce them with a sword,
who lost their loveboys to the three old shrews of fate the one
eyed shrew of the heterosexual dollar the one eyed shrew
that winks out of the womb and the one eyed shrew that does
nothing but sit on her ass and snip the intellectual golden
threads of the craftsman’s loom.
who copulated ecstatic and insatiate with a bottle of beer a
sweetheart a package of cigarettes a candle and fell off the
bed, and continued along the floor and down the hall and
ended fainting on the wall with a vision of ultimate cunt
and come eluding the last gyzym of consciousness,
who sweetened the snatches of a million girls trembling in the
sunset, and were red eyed in the morning but prepared to
sweeten the snatch of the sunrise, flashing buttocks under
barns and naked in the lake,
who went out whoring through Colorado in myriad stolen
night-cars, N.C., secret hero of these poems, cocksman and
Adonis of Denver–joy to the memory of his innumerable lays
of girls in empty lots & diner backyards, moviehouses’
rickety rows, on mountaintops in caves or with gaunt
waitresses in familiar roadside lonely petticoat upliftings
& especially secret gas-station solipsisms of johns, &
hometown alleys too,
who faded out in vast sordid movies, were shifted in dreams,
woke on a sudden Manhattan, and picked themselves up out
of basements hungover with heartless Tokay and horrors of
Third Avenue iron dreams & stumbled to unemployment
offices,
who walked all night with their shoes full of blood on the
snowbank docks waiting for a door in the East River to open
to a room full of steamheat and opium,
who created great suicidal dramas on the apartment cliff-banks of
the Hudson under the wartime blue floodlight of the moon &
their heads shall be crowned with laurel in oblivion,
who ate the lamb stew of the imagination or digested the crab at
the muddy bottom of the rivers of Bowery,
who wept at the romance of the streets with their pushcarts full
of onions and bad music,
who sat in boxes breathing in the darkness under the bridge, and
rose up to build harpsichords in their lofts,

who coughed on the sixth floor of Harlem crowned with flame
under the tubercular sky surrounded by orange crates of
theology,
who scribbled all night rocking and rolling over lofty incantations
which in the yellow morning were stanzas of gibberish,
who cooked rotten animals lung heart feet tail borsht & tortillas
dreaming of the pure vegetable kingdom,
who plunged themselves under meat trucks looking for an egg,
who threw their watches off the roof to cast their ballot for
Eternity outside of Time, & alarm clocks fell on their heads
every day for the next decade,
who cut their wrists three times successively unsuccessfully, gave
up and were forced to open antique stores where they thought
they were growing old and cried,
who were burned alive in their innocent flannel suits on Madison
Avenue amid blasts of leaden verse & the tanked-up clatter of
the iron regiments of fashion & the nitroglycerine shrieks of
the fairies of advertising & the mustard gas of sinister
intelligent editors, or were run down by the drunken taxicabs
of Absolute Reality,
who jumped off the Brooklyn Bridge this actually happened and
walked away unknown and forgotten into the ghostly daze of
Chinatown soup alleyways & firetrucks, not even one free
beer,
who sang out of their windows in despair, fell out of the subway
window, jumped in the filthy Passaic, leaped on negroes, cried
all over the street, danced on broken wineglasses barefoot
smashed phonograph records of nostalgic European 1930s
German jazz finished the whiskey and threw up groaning into
the bloody toilet, moans in their ears and the blast of
colossal steamwhistles,
who barreled down the highways of the past journeying to the
each other’s hotrod-Golgotha jail-solitude watch or
Birmingham jazz incarnation, who drove crosscountry
seventytwo hours to find out if I had a vision or you had
a vision or he had a vision to find out Eternity,
who journeyed to Denver, who died in Denver, who came back to
Denver & waited in vain, who watched over Denver &
brooded & loned in Denver and finally went away to find
out the Time, & now Denver is lonesome for her heroes,
who fell on their knees in hopeless cathedrals praying for each
other’s salvation and light and breasts, until the soul
illuminated its hair for a second,
who crashed through their minds in jail waiting for impossible
criminals with golden heads and the charm of reality in their
hearts who sang sweet blues to Alcatraz,
who retired to Mexico to cultivate a habit, or Rocky Mount to
tender Buddha or Tangiers to boys or Southern Pacific to the
black locomotive or Harvard to Narcissus to Woodlawn to the
daisychain or grave,
who demanded sanity trials accusing the radio of hypnotism &
were left with their insanity & their hands & a hung jury,
who threw potato salad at CCNY lecturers on Dadaism and
subsequently presented themselves on the granite steps of
the madhouse with shaven heads and harlequin speech of
suicide, demanding instantaneous lobotomy,
and who were given instead the concrete void of insulin Metrazol
electricity hydrotherapy psychotherapy occupational therapy
pingpong & amnesia,
who in humorless protest overturned only one symbolic pingpong
table, resting briefly in catatonia,
returning years later truly bald except for a wig of blood, and
tears and fingers, to the visible madman doom of the wards of
the madtowns of the East,
Pilgrim State’s Rockland’s and Greystone’s foetid halls, bickering
with the echoes of the soul, rocking and rolling in the
midnight solitude-bench dolmen-realms of love, dream of life
a nightmare, bodies turned to stone as heavy as the moon,
with mother finally ******, and the last fantastic book flung out
of the tenement window, and the last door closed at 4 a.m.
and the last telephone slammed at the wall in reply and the
last furnished room emptied down to the last piece of mental
furniture, a yellow paper rose twisted on a wire hanger in the
closet, and even that imaginary, nothing but a hopeful little
bit of hallucination–
ah, Carl, while you are not safe I am not safe, and now you’re
really in the total animal soup of time–
and who therefore ran through the icy streets obsessed with a
sudden flash of the alchemy of the use of the ellipse the
catalog the meter & the vibrating plane,
who dreamt and made incarnate gaps in Time & Space through
images juxtaposed, and trapped the archangel of the soul
between 2 visual images and joined the elemental verbs and
set the noun and dash of consciousness together jumping
with sensation of Pater Omnipotens Aeterna Deus
to recreate the syntax and measure of poor human prose and
stand before you speechless and intelligent and shaking
with shame, rejected yet confessing out the soul to conform
to the rhythm of thought in his naked and endless head,
the madman bum and angel beat in Time, unknown, yet putting
down here what might be left to say in time come after
death,
and rose reincarnate in the ghostly clothes of jazz in the goldhorn
shadow of the band and blew the suffering of America’s naked
mind for love into an eli eli lamma lamma sabacthani
saxophone cry that shivered the cities down to the last radio
with the absolute heart of the poem of life butchered out of their
own bodies good to eat a thousand years.

II

What sphinx of cement and aluminum bashed open their skulls
and ate up their brains and imagination?
Moloch! Solitude! Filth! Ugliness! Ashcans and unobtainable
dollars! Children screaming under the stairways! Boys
sobbing in armies! Old men weeping in the parks!
Moloch! Moloch! Nightmare of Moloch! Moloch the loveless!
Mental Moloch! Moloch the heavy judger of men!
Moloch the incomprehensible prison! Moloch the crossbone
soulless jailhouse and Congress of sorrows! Moloch
whose buildings are judgment! Moloch the vast stone of
war! Moloch the stunned governments!
Moloch whose mind is pure machinery! Moloch whose blood is
running money! Moloch whose fingers are ten armies!
Moloch whose breast is a cannibal dynamo! Moloch whose
ear is a smoking tomb!
Moloch whose eyes are a thousand blind windows! Moloch whose
skyscrapers stand in the long streets like endless
Jehovahs! Moloch whose factories dream and croak in the
fog! Moloch whose smokestacks and antennae crown the
cities!
Moloch whose love is endless oil and stone! Moloch whose soul is
electricity and banks! Moloch whose poverty is the specter
of genius! Moloch whose fate is a cloud of sexless
hydrogen! Moloch whose name is the Mind!
Moloch in whom I sit lonely! Moloch in whom I dream Angels!
Crazy in Moloch! Cocksucker in Moloch! Lacklove and
manless in Moloch!
Moloch who entered my soul early! Moloch in whom I am a
consciousness without a body! Moloch who frightened me out
of my natural ecstasy! Moloch whom I abandon! Wake up in
Moloch! Light streaming out of the sky!
Moloch! Moloch! Robot apartments! invisible suburbs! skeleton
treasuries! blind capitals! demonic industries! spectral
nations! invincible mad houses granite cocks! monstrous
bombs!
They broke their backs lifting Moloch to Heaven! Pavements,
trees, radios, tons! lifting the city to Heaven which exists
and is everywhere about us!
Visions! omens! hallucinations! miracles! ecstasies! gone down the
American river!
Dreams! adorations! illuminations! religions! the whole boatload
of sensitive bullshit!
Breakthroughs! over the river! flips and crucifixions! gone down
the flood! Highs! Epiphanies! Despairs! Ten years’ animal
screams and suicides! Minds! New loves! Mad generation!
down on the rocks of Time!
Real holy laughter in the river! They saw it all! the wild eyes! the
holy yells! They bade farewell! They jumped off the roof to
solitude! waving! carrying flowers! Down to the river! into the
street!

Rhythmic and pleasurable

Pulsating and magnificent

Up and down

Dripping and inviting

Exciting and unbelievable

In and out

Spectacular and bewildering

Heart stirring and astonishing

Slipping and sliding

Stunning and uplifting

Spine tingling and extraordinary

Faster and harder

Waltzing into a drawn out riddle

Between the watered down confessions

and the bold face fabrications

A violent outburst of schemes drizzle

Crumpled up promissory notes

Pockets full of fireworks blown

Indecent proposals flickering

Tossing and turning in the hot rain

Exposed hands dipped in sweetness

A secret lurking behind the curves

Will the words ever be spoken

Indecisions hide like bats in the echoes of the cave
Uncertainty sips from the acidic river
Vinegar seeping between the crushed bones and sharp nerves
Isolation and desolation are thumbs ripped from each hand
And the rattle lingers in the corner of the ear drum

Dismay is tucked away behind a faded curtain
Flaws stick to me like starving fleas
Substance is the saliva dripping from the piranha’s teeth
The equilibrium inside me wakes up the storm
And the rattle parades in a rhythm that disturbs the haze

Symptoms of a nontransparent disease spread
Inside the soliloquy the cage embraces the thunder
Murmurs and grumbles tremble with fright
Theology and myths walking in unison
And the rattle pounds like a headache

Butchered insults and splinters drive three inches through my anger
Crude laughs and vicious skies open up pouring sadness
Exasperation drags my eyelids through the dirt
Sorrow is a creek that I cleanse the silence
And the rattle pierces my aching skin

And I lay here with the rattle in the cage soothing the emptiness

Hypnotized by the sound of ice
Clinking in the sound of a glass
Smoggy and dreary atmosphere
Bottles full of hollowness
Mixed exchanges and signals
Pleasantries found in a blur
Spinning comments climbing up
Overdosed by her lustful winks
Lost between delusions and rainbows
First impressions engraved
A fragrance of whiskey circles
Crack of the cue ball dances
Spreading the triangle to all the corners
Quarters placed on the table
Perfume and alcohol mesh
A stench causing grins and sneers
Digits written in pink lipstick of the bathroom stall
A bartenders chuckle reverberates
Jukebox music playing at a ridiculous decibel
Communication at a bare minimal
Skirts and cleavage lecture over a free drink
Epilogues stumbling in and out
Clumsiness and truth cross paths
Ex lovers stuck close in a soap box
Identities hidden promenading in
Monologues spoken wobbling out
A haven of melancholic thoughts
Stationed between 2nd street and the laundry mat
Match made in intoxicating nirvana

Blade like teeth sparkle

Drooling a sinister circus

Vomiting chunks of truth

After inhaling gobs of deceit

Staring at shattered mirrors

stepping into chards of identity

Cutting into a split personality

A minor loss of hearing

Slick black Dracula like hair

Hanging his spirit like a bat

in a tortuous dying cave

As he plays a lullaby backwards

Hands quickly shrivel

Silent eyebrows howl

Character is a slow death

Dipping fingers in the cardinal sin

Centipedes gnawing on thin bones

Speaking with a ferocious tongue

A political speech for the hungry

Civilians bodies are spread out

Fistfuls of pennies are raised

No questions from the peasants

Walking up Scarlet Hill without armor

Surrounded by faith and emptiness

Glory and revenge are gripped

A rising battle among the defeated

Mothers pride fades away

Destroying a lost crusade

Hailing to the sovereign minister

Prayers becoming a fixture

A shrewd dictator of millions

Disregarding what humans want


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Slithering up Blackout Hill

Decorated vines wrap around my palm

blades fall like rain drops

Echoes of murder growl

at the turbulent and crying sky

I fell between jitters and anxiety

Dirt trembles in the morning

Distant memories click and clack

Love lies in a casket

Dreams don’t escape the coffin

Pungent graveyards bleed sorrow

I slipped between shock and tremors

Dead ends plead guilty

Blankets cover up the claws

Eyelids drip heavy oppression

Trains wreck in the shadows

Dancing in a cold sweat

I tripped into the razor nightmare

Aggravation stews at midnight

Chards of terror surround insomnia

Perplexity and complexity tangle

Faith and beliefs scatter

Nerves gravitate to the weak

I rest my torment on a bed of thorns


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Aimlessly floating

Through the pastures of rainbows

Seeking pastel colors of dreams

Above the molded fortress

Guided by soft tranquility

Brushing up against an oak tree

Wings spread wide as an ocean

Absorbing the crisp air

Flying high as an eagle

Freedom are feathers of gold

Fluttering in the pink wind

Waving at the blades of grass

Staring at high peeks

Gliding through the valleys

Soaring in the mist of unity

Under God’s mighty hands

Grateful to the sound of streams

Appreciating nature’s innocence

From the morning light

Until the moon finds the hazy sky

Seeking the beauty in love

Harboring love in its beauty


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Unpaved pitch black
Torturous and twisting
Glaring at a rustic sign
Unrecognizable and foreign
A lump in my throat

Cracked rear view mirror
Pieces of a faded sunset
Reflect a wrong direction
No map to point us South
Toward a new life, new route

Passing up Evergreen Cafe
Sipping on luke warm French Vanilla
Clenching to my hand
Whispering fear next to me
Grasping onto hope like a flask

I slip a quarter in the jukebox
My lips moving to a song
Forgotten in the tattered backseat
A memory that makes me yearn
For heat, flesh and forgiveness

Locked in the friend zone
Secrets guarded with a flag
Minimal and discrete conversation
Continually crossing borders
Stations only turned twice

Silence embraces then suffocates
Greener pastures a mirage
Our defenses are stone walls
Covered with heavy sighs
My hand crosses the fine line

Stuck at a broken light
Struck by the moving sensation
Trying to hide the risen tension
As she stares at my flush face
Urges from her leap forward

Unsure if he will yield
to the congestion of emotion
My smile a signal or a hazard
Time for me to shift gears
And fuel his lost passion

In the midst of driving
Unthinkable and unforgettable
Lips surrounded
Lighting a fire
Masterful tongue

The windows fogged
With curvaceous temptation
Our journey begins anew
A landscape drawn and devoured
In flashes of passing lights

Barriers removed
No caution tape around
Wanted and needed
Slipping into her palm
Astonished and amazed


Braeden – Non Italics

Amberangst – Italics

Check out Whiskey Tales and Spells if you haven’t! This was really fun to collaborate with her!

I didn’t mean to fall for your
magnificent intellect and brilliant eyes

I didn’t mean to fall for your
stunning curves and accent

I didn’t mean to fall for your
innocent laugh and magnetic charm

I didn’t mean to fall for your
echoing fortress and wide skies

I didn’t mean to fall for your
lips of ecstasy and golden tongue

I didn’t mean to fall for your
luscious skin and blissful scent

I didn’t mean to fall for your
beloved moon and drops of silver

I didn’t mean to fall for your
desirous flame and solid wick

I didn’t mean to fall for your
intoxicating personality

still we have no control over destiny
and luck is not the same as fate.
Reflections blending through a window
lovers and strangers, the cruelest fate.
My heart is a bird trailing its shadow
Its course charted and true</
I never meant to fall,
but I’ve fallen like the night for you.


Holly – Italics

Braeden – Non Italics


Check out Holly’s blog if you haven’t!

This was fun to collaborate with her!

I can only give you what you want if you speak your mind

I can only give you what you need if you speak up

I can only love all of you if you share all of yourself

I can only give you what you want if you

open up

I can only give you what you need If you reveal your true self

I can only love all of you if you release the beauty inside

I can only give you what you want if you show me who you are

I can only give you want you need if you throw away your fears

I can only love all of you if you let me see the real you

Standing up against your accusations

Walking away from your allegations

Disgusted by your fabrications

Joining the drama free nation

Shaking my head at your obligations

Reading more into the creations

Stability is a lost sensation

Laughing at your ill advised temptations

Saxophone is singing on 9th street
To the rhythm of bus doors opening and closing
Shuffling of feet gliding on the concrete
Chewing gum sticking to the bottom of brand new shoes
Limousines pulling up to a twenty dollar whore
Staring up at the lemon sun above the empty playground
Children glued to their iPhones, laptops, and technical galore
Struggling to see the reality of obesity with every fast food chain on the corner
Taxes rise as our education system falls
Blaming presidents, corporate America, government officials,
And not looking at ourselves in the stain glass
Reflections of wealth, greed, and money grow as our morals decrease as generations pass us by
And the acoustic guitar plays the melody to the gamblers, sinners, and welfare checks to those who abuse the system
Perception is only seen through the eyes of a republican or a democrat
There is no jester in the middle
And the saxophone continues to play on the 9th street
As we become more in tuned with ourselves others really don’t matter
Racism still continues as wars between religions rise around us
And the harmonica plays for Jesus
Remembering why we are here
We should be embracing all of the joys of life
Instead we try to hide our tears

Siren tongue lashing

Boiling altercation

Turning friction

into shocking magnetism

Slithering tensions

Desires eating away within

Locking away the voices

Ignoring the dangers

Releasing frustrations

in layers of colorful poetry

Disguised in a red arrow mask

Blood thirsty urges rise

Vigorous thumping

Awaiting to erupt

Watching Italian ice drip


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Exclaimed Hallelujah

Absorbing bullets and ricochets

Snap judgements built

An escape to silence

Tripping in debates

Haunting verbiage circling

like a disco ball in my mind

Waiting to exhale

Cynical metaphors drift

Waiting for your backlash

A born tragedy oscillating

Live wires misguided

Cold shoulder ramblings

Slapstick humor shuffling

like feet on cracked sidewalk

Stuck in the crevice

Misfiring hollow words

Disfigured and demeaning

Wrapped around false claims

A clash of the intellect

Distorted and torn apart

Leaving bits of the wolves

Words ripped at the seams

From the marrow

of your bleached bones

I gawk at your cloudy view

From the vessels

of your decaying brain

I peek at your vile lungs

From the ivory skin

to your numb heart

I overlook your flaws

From the incubus

of your wretched soul

I gaze into your core

From the veins

of your savage truth

to your circus tales

I scan the turbulence

of your existence

I rejoice in seeing

the skeleton’s magic