A Coney Island Of The Mind - "18"
by Lawrence Ferlinghetti
Frightened
by the sound of my own voice
and by the sound of birds
singing on hot wires
in sunday sleep I see myself
slaying sundry sinners and turkeys
loud dogs with sharp dead dugs
and black knights in iron suits
with Brooks labels
and Yale locks upon the pants
Yes
and with penis erectus for spear
I slay all old ladies
making them young again
with a touch of my sweet swaying sword
retrouving them their maiden
hoods and heads
ah yes
in flattering falsehoods of sleep
we come we conquer all
but all the while
real standard time ticks on
and new bottled babies with real teeth
devour our fantastic
fictioned future
