"who lit cigarettes in boxcars boxcars boxcars racketing through snow toward lonesome farms in grandfather night."

“America, Sacco & Vanzetti must not die.”

“I smoke marijuana every chance I get.”

“Carl Solomon! I’m with you in Rockland where you’re madder than I amI’m with you in Rocklandwhere you must feel very strangeI’m with you in Rocklandwhere you imitate the shade of my motherI’m with you in Rocklandwhere you’ve murdered your twelve secretariesI’m with you in Rockland”

“who copulated ecstatic and insatiate with a bottle of beer a sweetheart a package of cigarettes a candle and fell off the bed, and continued along the floor and down the hall and ended fainting on the wall with a vision of ultimate cunt and come eluding the last gyzym of consciousness.”

“who let themselves be fucked in the ass by saintly motorcyclists, and screamed with joy, who blew and were blown by those human seraphim, the sailors, caresses of Atlantic and Caribbean love, who balled in the morning in the evenings in rosegardens and the grass of public parks and cemeteries scattering their semen freely to whomever come who may.”

“who poverty and tatters and hollow-eyed and high sat up smoking in the supernatural darkness of cold-water flats floating across the tops of cities contemplating jazz.”