#Americans
The night is young & full of rest I can’t describe the way she’s dress’d She’ll pander to some strange
What can I read her What can I read her on a Sunday Morning What can I do that will somehow reach her
Shake dreams from your hair My pretty child, my sweet one. Choose the day and choose the sign of your day The day’s divinity
a series of notes, prose-poems stories, bits of play & dialog Aphorisms, epigrams, essays Poems? Sure
The barn is burning The race-track is over Farmers run out w/ buckets of water The horse flesh is burning
Midnight criminal metabolism of guilt fores… Rattlesnakes whistles castanets Remove me from this hall of mirror… This filthy glass
—Moment of inner freedom when the mind is opened & the infinite universe revealed & the soul is left to wander dazed & confus’d searching
Awake. Shake dreams from your hair my pretty child, my sweet one. Choose the day and choose the sign… the day's divinity
The walls screamed poetry disease… an inner whine like a mad machine… dropped in a cave of roaches or rodents
The mushroom The unfolding instant of creation (fertilisation… not an instant separate from break… It all flows down & out, flowing
down down down down down
—What is connection? —When 2 motions, thought to be infinite & mutually exclusive, meet in a moment.
Thoughts in time and out of season The Hitchhiker stood by the side… And leveled his thumb In the calm calculus of reason. Hi. How you doin’?
I can make the earth stop in its tracks. I made the blue cars go away. I can make myself invisible or sma… I can become gigantic & reach the
The great hiway of dawn Stretching to slumber pouring out from her greedy palms a shore, to wander Hesitation & doubt
