Fever 103 Revisited

No, no one is with you in Rockland.
Not your mother,
Not your father,
And certainly not your hippie friends,
And not Ginsberg either.
Everything was kinetic then,
The free love at The Haight.


What is this heat?
White walls.
Lonely howl. Hot lights.
You want to rise,
But you lay, notwithstanding,
The smell of ash from Moloch’s oven
Messing with your mind.
You try to understand,
And you know full well
That understanding not with standing
Is just under,
Under lights.
Are you hot yet?
Are you crazy?
You’re getting warmer.


What is this heat?
One million atoms,
Rushing past one another.
Frenetic frenzy.
“How many atoms in one million Adams,” you wonder,
“Or one million Eves?”
Your gaze descends,
Through the window,
Onto the crowds below,
Under the heat of the City Lights.
And you know full well
That even the product of
A mad hatter’s toils
Adorn the moving sea you see.
Yes, yes.