What Time Is It? It Is By

I Was Too Tired To Think. I Merely Felt The Town As A Unique Unreality. What Was It? I Knew -- The Moon's Picture Of A Town. These Streets With Their Houses Did Not Exist, They Were But A Ludicrous Projection Of The Moon's Sumptuous Personality. This Was A City Of Pretend, Created By The Hypnotism Of Moonnight. -- Yet When I Examined The Moon She Too Seemed But A Painting Of A Moon And The Sky In Which She Lived A Fragile Echo Of Color. If I Blew Hard The Whole Shy Mechanism Would Collapse Gently With A Neat Soundless Crash. I Must Not, Or Lose All.

Next To Of Course God America I / Love You Land Of The Pilgrims And So Forth Oh

...sunlight Is (life And Day Are)only Loaned:whereas Night Is Given(night And Death And The Rain Are Given;and Given Is How Beautifully Snow)

Seeming's Enough For Slaves Of Space And Time - Ours Is The Now And Here Of Freedom. Come.

Unbeing Dead Isn't Being Alive.