Howl, and Other Poems

I saw the best minds of my generation destroyed by madness, starving hysterical naked

Poor dead flower? when did you forget you were a flower?

who lounged hungry and lonesome through Houston seeking jazz or sex or soup

America how can I write a holy litany in your silly mood?

So I grabbed up the skeleton thick sunflower and stuck it at my side like a scepter

Poor dead flower? when did you forget you were a flower? when did you look at your skin and decide you were an impotent dirty old locomotive?

Unholy battered old thing you were, my sunflower O my soul, I loved you then!

I want people to bow as they see me and say he is gifted with poetry, he has seen the presence of the Creator.

And the Creator gave me a shot of his presence to gratify my wish, so as not to cheat me of my yearning for him.

The privilege to witness my existence—you too must seek the sun . .

the leaves in the night still where the day had placed them