(Untitled)

[silencedsparrow]

two stories above the rain-drenched streets where children sell papers and handjobs for sixpence each where the quiet monks pour lighter fluid on their arms and legs but leave their faces dry where watermellon rinds and pineapple cores crawl on the backs of devoted wall street ants where storm drain lids shake from the breath of twelve thousand

Comments

[growntallernow]

well fuck.

[silencedsparrow]

I read Howl today.

[growntallernow]

read it again after learning more about ginsberg and you'll be blown away

[silencedsparrow]

I don't doubt it. On the first read, I could only appreciate the incredible collision of prose (and this is... actually not like that, not like he does it at all, but there's probably a connection with the where where where / who who who)

[growntallernow]

same structure though, with the autobiographical anecdotes interspersed with the poetic images. your ending is blatantly ripping off of the last stanza of howl, but it's a good steal.

[silencedsparrow]

hah, that's funny

the collection christian gave me only has Howl I, so that's all I've read (and that last stanza has no connection to this at all). if there's any similarity to ginsberg's ending in my ending, it was completely coincidental.

[growntallernow]

you're in for a treat then

[silencedsparrow]

oh my god, we're using livejournal to talk to each other at school

i am so ashamed