*"who scribbled all night rocking and rolling over lofty
incantations which in the yellow morning were
stanzas of gibberish,"*
--Allen Ginsberg, "Howl"
I scream into the night
or perhaps I
howl, knowing nothing save
that I am, because I feel
which is, ignoring philosophies
of nothingness, enough for me
I am, scientist, poet, eater,
drinker, knower, lover
thinker
thinking
not knowing, but
believing
in laughter, a curse because
it is strong, sounds corrupt
as it curls away from my bitter tongue
like the smoke from a fire
that burned uncontrollably
through the night and in the morning
we awoke to the ash
consuming poison knowing
hoping that we may see
what our healthy, clear minds cannot
a world in which we comfortably
belong, can say “home”
and mean it wherever we stand
from your house at R’lyeh, in
your tomb forever ensconceed
your laughter echoes and sours
the night which I call home
a gentle scorn upon my past
apocolyptic loves
destroying (or fucking)
reason and care
the sober-now mind
completes the thoughts
of my past abstractions
calling me ever back
to the nights in which I was built