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  when walt whitman spokea multitudes he meant     did he not     that within each ovus an obsequious beer soaked indie boy broods about steppin in front of a fuckin bus         t burrow down intae the freckled id     where coffee torns t treacle on the hotplate and borst fegs are embedded in the carpet     what i really mean is that ad hate to be that kyid again          rollin along crash barriers at some gig in the union while the country is sold by the furlong     drinkin what i made at my forst communion on a nightly basis     then starvin maself of breakfast & lunch & good mental health