The City: North Beach Sutra (Columbus Boulevard)…
We’re not our skin of grime,
we’re not our dread bleak dusty imageless locomotive,
we’re all beautiful golden sunflowers inside, we’re blessed
by our own seed & hairy naked
accomplishment — bodies growing into mad black formal sunflowers in the sunset,
spied on by our eyes under the shadow of the mad
locomotive riverbank sunset Frisco hilly tincan evening sitdown vision.
Allen Ginsberg, Sunflower Sutra