Ginsberg saw the punch of heavenly insanity
through glassy homosexual eyes
across oceans of distance & nearing death
He wrote from his head the trade wind Howl
of demon smokestacks and collapsed cities
screwing a Buddha universe of astronomic atoms
where lived man who spit blood and broke heart
among hard machines made by harder machines
on a hard rock surface called a world
pregnant with firearms & hypodermic needles
in need of cash and the warm hot fix
of a thousand squirming angels in a passionate frenzy
Ginsberg felt this madness of America
& the naked copy world of cruise ships
underneath their starry night
with cots full of spent sperm and false hips
and wigs with plastic faces before He died
beyond a prison wall with His tender man
confessing eternal love within a soft earth womb
powdered dry like the Sahara desert
without relief from quick suicide or happy June weddings
with happy cake & wall street traders
pumping for their gymnasium memberships
when the dancing couple fell into a bloody hole
& found a habit without a flying nun attached
near the Harvard yard of peak nothingness
Ginsberg danced on strings of his own inspiration
with Beating poets studying the crowded beer hall
of ashcan lids craftily blown across the lonely street
to where the Brooklyn Dodgers once had played
before an admiring crowd of immortal souls:
on Ebbets Field the memories grow like Hell
