Poems from ginsberg
Not at all materialistic,
but possessive of my possessions.
Things that mean a lot to me,
not much bit scraps of paper, pages sewn together...
Plant kisses with your fists,
All over my body.
Hit me, kiss me, to me they're the same.
Tug at my skin,
With your hands and teeth-- I'd...
It shoots up, I smack it down
With your answers, your problems
Mine, nowhere to be found.
One insinuation and they go wild,
Mad with intent...
Once the whole world was a wondrous beauty.
Alone, untouched, untainted.
Until we spun it gray, somber and dull,
it does better off now...