Who wept at the romance, illustrated by Healther Wilcoxon
Art by the amazing Hearther Wilcoxon Who wept at the romance for Ginsberg and so for Solomon The moon yacketayakking, all over the street, danced on boxcars. Boxcars racketing over the rooftops. Storefront Moloch, whose ear is smoking, wandered around and around seeking jazz or sex or soup, trying to giggle, but wound up with a sob—animal soup intelligent and shaking. The archangel of the soul will never return your soul, faded out in vast sordid movies. Holy Istanbul vanished into nowhere Zen. Midnight streetlight smalltown rain ended fainting on the wall.