We strode down the open corridors together in our solitary fancy tasting artichokes, possessing every frozen delicacy, and never passing the cashier. Where are we going, Walt Whitman? The doors close in an hour. Which way does your beard point tonight?(I touch your book and dream of our odyssey in the supermarket and feel absurd.)
Allen Ginsberg- A Supermarket In California
Allen Ginsberg- A Supermarket In California
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