I'm Right There, Swimming The River Of

Bein Crazy Is The Least Of My Worries.

Walking On Water Wasn't Built In A Day.

And Before Me Was The Great Raw Bulge And Bulk Of My American Continent; Somewhat Far Across, Gloomy, Crazy New York Was Throwing Up Its Cloud Of Dust And Brown Steam. There Is Something Brown And Holy About The East; And California Is White Like Washlines And Emptyheaded - At Least That's What I Thought Then.

The Taste Of Rain -- Why Kneel?

At Night I Closed My Eyes And Saw My Bones Threading The Mud Of My Grave.