Ginsberg´s supermarket

I wandered into Ginsberg´s supermarket tonight
the neon chill crawled up and down the aisles
like bony fingers rippling my spine
I saw him there standing by the plums and avocadoes
stroking Whitman´s book in one hand
and the rolling hills of cantelopes in the other
sniffing their soft mellow belllies in sensual delight
I looked away embarassed ...pathetic it was
as was my own solitary aching and so
Ι turned to leave when out of nowhere
Edgar Allan Poe appeared before me
among the hot peppers and celery stalks
gaunt and ghostly in bleak black attire
his obnoxious raven perched on his middle fleshless finger
forever croaking nevermore.. nevermore ... nevermore
as it pecked at the ripe rotting tomatoes on display
like the aging whores in Amsterdam
I hurried on a in stark terror and stumbling
tripped over good ol' Rudyard Kipling
over by the frozen food section
muttering if,if, if,if, if, if,if,if,if,if
ad nauseam ....
never a more useless word thought I
and sweeping  my gaze in another direction 
beheld Archibald Leish's armless ambidextrian midget
match in hand setting fire to his big, fat toe
I had had enough and turned to retrace my steps
when lo and behold there he was Walt Whitman himself
amidst the hanging hams and headless cows
his beard pointing to the flashing word EXIT
as if directing me to abandon my senseless search
I felt cold inside and shivering incontrollably
pulled my collar up as I made my way
through the ghastly maze of twisted corridors
then grabbing a bottle of bourbon  I hastened my step
until I got to the check out counter where stood
behind the cash register the black-hooded man twirling a giant pole
as if it were a baton at a circus side show
and taking my money showed me the exit
pointing to the wall that had no door