GINSBERG'S HOWL REVISITED
by anonymous

I saw the best skwerls of my generation destroyed by
madness, starving hysterical furless,
skittering themselves through the parks at dawn
looking for a peanut fix,
furrytailed rodents burning for the ancient heavenly
connection to the starry treetop nest in the machin-
ery of forests,
who were wet and skwerl-eyed and high sat
up eating in the supernatural darkness of
backyards floating across the tops of powerlines
contemplating food,
who bared their shells to Nut-Heaven under the canopy and
saw animal lovers staggering on tree-
tops illuminated,
who passed through eavestroughs with radiant cool eyes
hallucinating domestic tragedy
among the scholars of rodentry,
who were expelled from the lawns for crazy &
making obscene noises on the windowsills of the
suburban skull,
who cowered in bus shelters, burn-
ing their peanut shells in wastebaskets and listening
to the Terror through the wall,
who got run over in their fur coats returning through
the I-90 heading for New York,
who ate sunflower seeds off birdfeeders or drank water from
birdbaths, death, or purgatoried their
torsos night after night
with dreams, with drugs, with waking nightmares, al-
cohol and tail and endless nuts.



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