Howl-e (with apologies to Allen Ginsberg)

i've seen the best minds of my generation destroyed by madness,
necking speedbombs at Heston services,
dragging themselves through the 24 hour garage
looking for hothatch convoys,
soggy t-shirt revolutionaries gurning for the ancient heavenly
connection to the starry dynamo in the queue, by the bogs
who poverty and tatters and hollow-eyed and high sat
up smoking in the supernatural darkness of
some bloke’s flat, floating across the tops of cities looking for amyl and vicks