I Saw The Best Minds Of My

So The Problem For The Poetic Artist Or The Photographer Is The Common Problem Of Continuous Attentiveness, Continuous Attempts To Notice What He Is Noticing, Continuous Alertness To Catch Himself Thinking Or Seeing, Devotional Attentiveness To The World He's Moving Through.

Strange Now To Think Of You, Gone Without Corsets & Eyes, While I Walk On The Sunny Pavement Of Greenwich Village. Downtown Manhattan, Clear Winter Noon, And I've Been Up All Night, Talking, Talking, Reading The Kaddish Aloud, Listening To Ray Charles Blues Shout Blind On The Phonograph

We're Not Our Skin Of Grime, We're Not Our Dread Bleak Dusty Imageless Locomotive, We're All Beautiful Golden Sunflowers Inside, We're Blessed By Our Own Seed & Hairy Naked Accomplishment-bodies Growing Into Mad Black Formal Sunflowers In The Sunset, Spied On By Our Eyes Under The Shadow Of The Mad Locomotive Riverbank Sunset Frisco Hilly Tincan Evening Sitdown Vision.

The Combination Of Drugs, Homosexuality, Some Good Prose Recited On Screen. . . . In The Sweat Lodge Ceremony We Went Through, Did You Get Any Glimpse Of The Ugly Spirit, What That Was Historically Or Biographically?

You Assume We Are All Sexually Stable; While On The Other Hand, As I Have Become Acquainted With People, I Find That They Are All Perverted Sinners, One Way Or Another, That The Whole Society Is Corrupt And Rotten And Repressed And Unconscious That It Exhibits Its Repression In Various Forms Of Social Sadism.