Peyote solidities of halls, backyard green tree cemetery dawns, wine drunkenness over the rooftops, storefront boroughs of teahead joyride neon blinking traffic light, sun and moon and tree vibrations in the roaring winter dusks of Brooklyn, ashcan rantings and kind king light of mind,
There are many points and chunks of text where Ginsberg is just saying words in seemingly random order (with purpose, of course) and it is both disorienting and cryptic, however resonating. The alliteration that occurs in this stanza and the next connect the ideas in the reader's minds to form a coherently incoherent image of a maybe-correct-but-who-knows concept that Ginsberg was aiming for. Was he aiming at all?

The title of this piece reminds me of the painting by Kenneth Hayes Miller, "The Waste". It has the same idea of a Waste Land as we talked about in class; desolate, lonely, dreary, etc. It seems that both of these pieces play with the idea of a Waste Land in different ways; the painting being more literal.