Let The Straight Flower Bespeak Its Purpose

Last Exit To Brooklyn Should Explode Like A Rusty Hellish Bombshell Over America And Still Be Eagerly Read In A Hundred Years.

Strange Now To Think Of You, Gone Without Corsets & Eyes, While I Walk On The Sunny Pavement Of Greenwich Village. Downtown Manhattan, Clear Winter Noon, And I've Been Up All Night, Talking, Talking, Reading The Kaddish Aloud, Listening To Ray Charles Blues Shout Blind On The Phonograph

Scientist Alone Is True Poet He Gives Us The Moon He Promises The Stars He'll Make Us A New Universe If It Comes To 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 Had A Moment Of Clarity, Saw The Feeling In The Heart Of Things, Walked Out To The Garden Crying.