Nothin' But Clouds Of Blood

and i can't help but wonder what Ginsberg thought on and upon and around during his own long walks home after late nights, evenings, soirs, nachts und noches with his very own stumble-step versions playing in repeat. did he come up and over with new thoughts poetic and plain filled with mixes and free and friendly given him by accidental neighbors in squalid flats of lonely dive?

now seems a moment in worth staying in and on of peripatetic lifestyles neither rich nor famous to discuss another cityscape love song but i'll suffice it to say - and with words of another - "well the winds in Chicago... have torn me to shreds."

and if you've ever wondered how deep is deep:

well there you go.

and if you think this unsatisfying in the most, least, and any other wayst, well to that i'll say: yes. yes it is. it's all unsatisfactory. factory burning bright.

"well there's too many people.... too many to recall."
and somtimes you're mistaken for strangers by your own friends,
and the smallest voice can take you to the worst of places.