Howl Allen Ginsberg with Nebuchadnezzar’s
For this generation’s minds lie bleeding and ravished
in the streets of the libertine-philosophic
Your angel-headed hipsters of darkness marshalling
the hollow-eyed masses to their graves.
Israfel softly sings his damnable odes in the classroom
and o’er the air-waves.
Two hundred million saxes wail false laments
like the butchered-truths of the painter Francis Bacon
But when one prays at the altar of Damien Hirst
(or de Payens) just Who and what has been forsaken?