I saw the best minds of my generation destroyed by madness, starving hysterical naked,
dragging themselves through the negro streets at dawn looking for an angry fix,
who bared their brains to Heaven under the El and saw Mohammedan angels staggering on tenement roofs illuminated,
who were visionary indian angels,
who lounged hungry and lonesome through Houston seeking jazz or sex or soup, and followed the brilliant Spaniard to converse about America and Eternity, a hopeless task, and so took ship to Africa,
AIM; Spiel Lunatique.
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