Once Fishing Was A Rabbit's Foot-- O

I Saw The Spiders Marching Through The Air, Swimming From Tree To Tree That Mildewed Day In Latter August When The Hay Came Creaking To The Barn. But Where The Wind Is Westerly, Where Gnarled November Makes The Spiders Fly Into The Apparitions Of The Sky, They Purpose Nothing But Their Ease And Die Urgently Beating East To Sunrise And The Sea.

But Sometimes Everything I Write With The Threadbare Art Of My Eye Seems A Snapshot

Life Begins To Happen. My Hoppped Up Husband Drops His Home Disputes, And Hits The Streets To Cruise For Prostitutes

Sometimes Nothing Is So Solid To Me As Writing - I Suppose That's What A Vocation Means - At Times A Torment, A Bad Conscience, But All In All, Purpose And Direction.

It's A Completely Powerful And Serious Book, As Good As Anything In Prose Or Poetry Written By A 'beat' Writer, And One Of The Most Alive Books Written By Any American For Years. I Don't See How It Could Be Considered Immoral.