In a dream you sit at the steps leading up to my door
legs crossed and eyes too
in Saturday's drunken haze,
they itch, rotting ginsberg, where to turn now? what do
you know of love? crawl into my ear to brain to eye
completely - I'm better off without me anyway

my mind my will my conscience my body
my brain
burn burn burn burn burn,
(ginsberg you're not rotting here),
to know, more,
of what? I don't know, sorry,
I don't know
I don't know anymore but
did I ever?

Allen, what was it that I saw in the mirror of my head
when I thought I knew all?