like ginsberg, like vonnegut, like plath, like kerouac

i say it out loud the words i read, and they excite me, as if they might him when he edited, and edited for hours under dim lights, under marijuana, under morphine, under most efficient of mediums. poetry. and this wasn't blindly written, it is music merely, just spoken, not sung. but is not the spoken word songs in itself?  in my mind, still, beauty and nakedness are unsequestered. and life, it is not brief. moments may be fleeting, but life is long, without any moral characteristics. life, is only perception of time.
and if you so choose to perceive it as linear, that is what it would be.

i choose for a panorama.