the ghostly clothes of jazz in the morning poems, cocksman and
Adonis of Denver-joy rickety rows, on mountaintops in caves or with
gaunt waitresses in familiar roadside lonely petticoat upliftings &
especially secret gas-station solipsisms of johns, & hometown alleys too,
who faded out in vast sordid movies, were shifted in dreams, woke
on a wire hanger in the goldhorn shadow of the breasts of the pure
vegetable kingdom,