A Poem Is Like A Radio That

I Didn't Know The Names Of The Flowers - Now My Garden Is Gone.

My Books Piled Up Before Me For My Use Waiting In Space Where I Placed Them, They Haven't Disappeared, Time's Left Its Remnants And Qualities For Me To Use -- My Words Piled Up, My Texts, My Manuscripts, My Loves.

We Are All Exposed To The Flash Bulb Of Death.

Poetry Is The One Place Where People Can Speak Their Original Human Mind. It Is The Outlet For People To Say In Public What Is Known In Private.

America, How Can I Write A Holy Litany In Your Silly Mood?