America, Why Are Your Libraries Full Of

The Closet Door Is Open For Me, Where I Left It, Since I Left It Open, It Has Graciously Stayed Open.

The Apparition Of An Evil, Sick Unconscious Wild City Rose Before Me In Visible Semblance, And About The Dead Buildings In The Barren Air, The Bodies Of The Soul That Built The Wonderland Shuffled And Stalked And Stalked And Lurched In Attitudes Of Immemorial Nightmare All Around.

Let The Straight Flower Bespeak Its Purpose In Straightness - To Seek The Light. Let The Crooked Flower Bespeak Its Purpose In Crookedness - To Seek The Light. Let The Crookedness And Straightness Bespeak The Light.

America, How Can I Write A Holy Litany In Your Silly Mood?

We Love To Be Hurt And We Love To Have Our Unhealing Wounds Opened And Reopened Again: We Sit Staring In The Mirror Of Art, Fascinated By Our Own Deformities.