#Americans
The night is young & full of rest I can’t describe the way she’s dress’d She’ll pander to some strange
The mushroom The unfolding instant of creation (fertilisation… not an instant separate from break… It all flows down & out, flowing
The great hiway of dawn Stretching to slumber pouring out from her greedy palms a shore, to wander Hesitation & doubt
The walls screamed poetry disease… an inner whine like a mad machine… dropped in a cave of roaches or rodents
What can I read her What can I read her on a Sunday Morning What can I do that will somehow reach her
Awake. Shake dreams from your hair my pretty child, my sweet one. Choose the day and choose the sign… the day's divinity
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
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 1st electric wildness came over the people on sweet Friday. Sweat was in the air. The channel beamed,
—Moment of inner freedom when the mind is opened & the infinite universe revealed & the soul is left to wander dazed & confus’d searching
down down down down down
everyone has Their own magic There is no death so nothing matters High Style Flash & forgive me
