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flashing buttocks under barns and naked in the lake,
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who went out whoring
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through Colorado in myriad stolen night cars,
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Neal Cassady, secret hero of these poems,
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cocksman and Adonis of Denver,
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joy to the memory of his innumerable lays of girls
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in empty lots
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and diner backyards,
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Moviehouses'rickety rows, on mountaintops in caves
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or with gaunt waitresses in familiar roadside
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lonely petticoat upliftings,
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I think it's a Howl of pain.