Title: "Cut-Up Requiem for William S. Burroughs"


"Naked Lunch on a Junky’s Ticket,
Soft Machine hums the Dead Star refrain,
Cities of the Red Night flicker,
Ghostly typewriters bleed through the vein."


"Interzone, Interzone—where the words unwind,
Cut-up prophets in a shadow mind,
Wild Boys laugh in the flicker-flame,
Burroughs, your language plays the game."


"The Yage Letters hum a broken tune,
Exterminator! sprays the page,
Queer vibrations under a junk-sick moon,
Last words fade in a silent rage."


"Word virus, word virus—spread it thin,
Scissors dance where the lines begin,
Rub out the name, rewrite the past,
The ticket’s torn—you’re free at last."


"Nova Express leaves no return,
The Western Lands sigh and burn,
Your voice now spliced in the cosmic dust,
A cut-up god in the void’s deep trust."

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