...All I need is a mirror for the rest of my life.  

My frist five years I lived in chicken coups with not enough bacon. 

My mother showed her witch face in the night and told stories of blue beards. 

My dreams lifted me right out of my bed. 

I dreamt I jumped into the nozzle of a gun to fight it out with a bullet. 

I met Kafka and he jumped over a building to get away from me. 

My body turned into sugar, poured into tea I found the meaning of life 

All I needed was ink to be a black boy. 

I walk on the street looking for eyes that will caress my face. 

I sang in the elevators believing I was going to heaven...

 

                                                            Peter Orlovsky "frist poem"