A feminist's tip of the hat to Allen Ginsberg's 1956 poem:
Howl
by Amy Newman
I saw the best minds of my generation destroyed by wedding
planners, dieting, in shapewear,
dragging themselves in cute outfits through the freezer section for the semifreddo bender,
blessed innovative cloister girl pin-ups burning to know the rabbi of electricity in poverty, obedience, in the dream stick of opium and the green Wi-Fi fuse,
who marveling and cramping and wired and allergic lock themselves out of their apartments in the trenchant imperfect delight of early day,
who bared their minds to bar friends by the train in twilight and saw tiny figures like fireflies splendoring apartments Botoxed flat like canvas continue reading
Hear Newman read the poem on Soundcloud
Via
About Me
- The Nag
- Niagara on the Lake, Ontario, Canada
- My virtue is that I say what I think, my vice that what I think doesn't amount to much.
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