I have been listening to poetry and recently I came across a reading by Anne Waldman and Allen Ginsberg, both GENIUS American poets. Ginberg is of course famous for Howl and is my current DP, cos I feel his poems carry the sick desires and the truly displays the obscene as art. Truly inspiring, showing what man really is in the time of the beatniks. Anyway here is a poem entitled:

Bathroom Reflections

Who are you?
With my face, my nose,
my lips and globe eyes that roll back into my head,
with my feet and calves,
toes and thighs that
are stuck with black needles poking from underneath the skin.
With my neck, and bent shoulders like hinges on the door,
with my arms and badly bitten finger nailed hands,
resembling a discoloured manicure.
who are you that is I?

The bathroom steam fogs up the image,
now you are only a ghost from my past, another Scrooge.
The vague outline with the orange toilet light
glossing over your (my) body.

Then you are gone.

The cloud of white mist
taking you away like they did to Jesus up into heaven.
Only a whisper,a small light bulb
that flickers and the filament
burns up in a second.

Followed by darkness,
darkness and the Great darkness.
Opening my eyes I see darkness, hands grope the darkness
feet trod on the empty dark tiles reflecting the darkness
that can be smelt and a dark taste in my mouth.
Darkness and shadows, all I see is the the dark of light,
the shadow, covered in darkness.
My own shadow darkened by the other shadows
that are also darkening in dark room where there is nothing
but darkness left in the dark bathroom.
__________________________________________________________________