I saw the best minds of my generation destroyed by madness,
starving hysterical naked,
dragging themselves through the Shire streets at dawn
looking for a missing ring,
angelheaded hobbits burning for the ancient heavenly
connection to the starry dynamo in the machinery of
night,
who poverty and tatters and hollow-eyed and high sat
up smoking pipes in the elven darkness of cold-water
barrows floating across the tops of Rivendell contemplating
ancient lays,
who bared their brains to Heaven in the Wilderlands
and saw Rider-like shadows staggering on The Prancing
Pony roof illuminated,
who passed through Moria with radiant cool eyes hallucinating
Gondor and Lothlorien among the scholars of war...