William S. Burroughs
William S. Burroughs

1914-1997

the old writer couldn't write anymore because he had reached the end of words

the end of what could be done to words and then finish me off finish me stay

how long can one hang on in gibraltar with the tapestries where mustached

riders with scimitars hunt tigers the ivory balls one inside the other with

their seams showing a long tea room mirrors on both sides with tired

rubber plants shops selling english marmalade and portland masons

tea clinging to their rock like rock eggs clinging always to

less and less in tangiers parade bars close shadows are

falling on the mountain

hurry up please its time