Nov 20, 2021
2 min read
Madness and Ecstasy: A Prose-Poem
It’s all Foucault’s fault
It’s all Foucault’s fault I’m obsessed — it’s Ginsberg’s fault too — scattering a bit much of the insane into my ecstasy — now in the process of rebuilding the asylum — its inmate had been allowed to tear it down —
but I’m seeing things still — robins upside down, there’s rain in the snow — I’m positive — I’m messy and not anything close…
