A Poem Is Like A Radio That

Taxi September Along Jessore Road Oxcart Skeletons Drag Charcoal Load Past Watery Fields Thru Rain Flood Ruts Dung Cakes On Treetrunks, Plastic-roof Huts Wet Processions Families Walk Stunted Boys Big Heads Don't Talk Look Bony Skulls & Silent Round Eyes Starving Black Angels In Human Disguise.

I Like The Image Of The Old Man And The Sea, Of Striving And Succeeding But Finding That The Success Was Ghost Success. In Other Words, In The Long Run, After A Certain Age, The Motives For Success, Pride Or Oppressing People Or Getting Power.

Unholy Battered Old Thing You Were, My Sunflower O My Soul, I Loved You Then!

Every American Wants More & More Of The World And Why Not, You Only Live Once. But The Mistake Made In America Is Persons Accumulate More & More Dead Matter, Machinery, Possessions & Rugs & Fact Information At The Expense Of What Really Counts As More: Feeling, Good Feeling, Sex Feeling, Tenderness Feeling, Mutual Feeling. You Own Twice As Much Rug If You're Twice As Aware Of The Rug.

First Thoughts Are The Strongest.