We're All Golden Sunflowers Inside.

Scientist Alone Is True Poet.

No Monster Vibration, No Snake Universe Hallucinations. Many Tiny Jeweled Violet Flowers Along The Path Of A Living Brook That Looked Like Blake's Illustration For A Canal In Grassy Eden: Huge Pacific Watery Shore, Orlovsky Dancing Naked Like Shiva Long-haired Before Giant Green Waves, Titanic Cliffs That Wordsworth Mentioned In His Own Sublime, Great Yellow Sun Veiled With Mist Hanging Over The Planet's Oceanic Horizon. No Harm.

The Real America That Whitman Proclaimed And Thoreau Decoded.

It's Time We Did Something To Assert Ourselves. After All, We Do Comprise 10% Of The Population.

Who Burned Cigarette Holes In Their Arms Protesting The Narcotic Tobacco Haze Of Capitalism