My Eyes Were Glued On Life And

Nothing Ever Happened - Not Even This

I Felt Like Lying Down By The Side Of The Trail And Remembering It All. The Woods Do That To You, They Always Look Familiar, Long Lost, Like The Face Of A Long-dead Relative, Like An Old Dream, Like A Piece Of Forgotten Song Drifting Across The Water, Most Of All Like Golden Eternities Of Past Childhood Or Past Manhood And All The Living And The Dying And The Heartbreak That Went On A Million Years Ago And The Clouds As They Pass Overhead Seem To Testify (by Their Own Lonesome Familiarity) To This Feeling.

Equally Empty, Equally To Be Loved, Equally A Coming Buddha

Holy Flowers Floating In The Air, Were All These Tired Faces In The Dawn Of Jazz America.

No Fear Or Shame In The Dignity Of Yr Experience, Language & Knowledge