The Real America That Whitman Proclaimed And

What Peaches And What Penumbras! Whole Families Shopping At Night! Aisles Full Of Husbands! Wives In The Avocados, Babies In The Tomatoes!--and You, Garcia Lorca, What Were You Doing Down By The Watermelons?

The Typewriter Is Holy The Poem Is Holy The Voice Is Holy The Hearers Are Holy The Ecstacy Is Holy!

You Assume We Are All Sexually Stable; While On The Other Hand, As I Have Become Acquainted With People, I Find That They Are All Perverted Sinners, One Way Or Another, That The Whole Society Is Corrupt And Rotten And Repressed And Unconscious That It Exhibits Its Repression In Various Forms Of Social Sadism.

Who Can Live With This Consciousness And Not Wake Frightened At Sunrise?

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.