I saw the best minds of my generation enslaved by madness, starving
dragging themselves through the first-class-citizen streets at noon
looking for a fuzzy fix,
headless hipsters burning for some some any way to match your
generation for its power, its majesty, its Trotskyite glory glowing on
their album covers,
who were nauseated by their manhoods and who fed their womanhoods to monsters,
who thought America a burden and whose skinny teenage ribs were
crushed by the burden,
whom were thought burdens for the costs of the tuitions for the
schools that would take their money and that of the Truly Special and
whose degrees were risible and Common,
who spun clockwise always clockwise looking for That Which Had Not
Yet Been Done Before Better.
You saw the popular kids from your generation destroy themselves to
and indeed you were impressed,
and in turn you impressed us.
I wonder now,
How's that working out for you
... being impressive?