Beatnik's Wish

with much care, but what I'm wiggin' for can't fit. There, all the neighbor cats are knockin' some zeeves, with visions man like wah through their heads. And I sit here dreaming in my overstump chair, of my letter to Santa, baby.

Hope it got there. I wrote him a letter a few moons ago, that hosted northward through the crazy, crazy snow. That wasn't really as so many chicks are, no request for a TV star. I didn't ask for trip to the left bank, man.

Not even a mink to my poor little me. I wish was more simple, more simple by far, than even a wish for a pink jaguar. I'm right, Santa, that I wanted to ring. Diamond braced it, not even things that swing like Kenton O'Vacie, the freshman four.

I didn't run a ring inside the hungry eye. And do I wish to be like a burden fly? Real, real.