"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 *******)
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