The junkies sell their bodies
in bathrooms like
they're manuscripts
they have manuscript
drafts of masterpiece novels
subtly
describing the deepest
eccentricities of themselves
they scribbled stanzas
of gibberish
on confluential synchcronicity
they have drawn a map of
the rivers that merge
just south of 7th Avenue
smell of sewage and lost virginity
the country has lost its virginity
when gas is thirty-five.ninety nine
a gallon & we can no longer
drive our coffins on
wheels
& the nonsense
these smiley-glad-hands spew
while sipping
their bitter black designer coffee
benzedrine-caffeine-nicotine addled
slumlord won't answer the phone call
of those sleeping in the cold
those sleeping with the cold needles
one bedroom apartment
painting on the walls late at night
painting wartorn landscapes
on walls late at night
inhaling deeply the aerosol
amazed at the blue lights
the mechanical skeletons
controlling the siege engines
with the wailing blue lights and sirens
have never seen them huddled
together under the same blanket
all too human under
the same blanket
skin to skin
pulling in warmth
in defiance
against
it all
all while
listening
to holy Ginsberg
cry an
echoout of his
echo
echo
gravewomb