America, How Can I Write A Holy

How Sick I Am! That Thought Always Comes To Me With Horror. Is It This Strange For Everybody? But Such Fugitive Feelings Have Always Been My Metier.

What Peaches And What Penumbras! Whole Families Shopping At Night! Aisles Full Of Husbands! Wives In The Avocados, Babies In The Tomatoes!--and You, Garcia Lorca, What Were You Doing Down By The Watermelons?

Who Burned Cigarette Holes In Their Arms Protesting The Narcotic Tobacco Haze Of Capitalism

A Naked Lunch Is Natural To Us We Eat Reality Sandwiches. But Allegories Are So Much Lettuce. Don't Hide The Madness.

America I Used To Be A Communist When I Was A Kid And I'm Not Sorry.