I thought the words had disappeared… they still come, . however. They come in droves.. they come in armies.. with their own generals, their own slogans of war and peace. They drip down from the edge of my consciousness and collapse in a puddle on the floor below.. a fetid amorous mass of thoughts and word and ideas.. forever abandoned

There is above poem in their somewhere.. a mass of whatever claims itself as love and whatever claims itself as lust and hate and Venus moves away into the sun light .. the atmosphere burned away … stropped of all pretense of life

He came in.. look he said.. spider traps all over whatever claims itself to be the last piece of the wall.. Moloch whose eyes are a thousand blind windows—Ginsberg says.. Moloch whose factories dream and cloak in the fog..

There was God’s light today.. streaming behind the blood red of the days last cloud show.. they made me make something of it.. “What do you think of it” they said.. Of this depictitive surrealist dadaesque reality…