Poetry Is A Shuffling Of Boxes Of

I See America, Not In The Setting Sun Of A Black Night Of Despair Ahead Of Us, I See America In The Crimson Light Of A Rising Sun Fresh From The Burning, Creative Hand Of God. I See Great Days Ahead, Great Days Possible To Men And Women Of Will And Vision.

Pile The Bodies High At Austerlitz And Waterloo. Shovel Them Under And Let Me Work. I Am The Grass. I Cover All.

Poetry Is A Dance Music Measuring Buck-and-wing Follies Along With The Gravest And Stateliest Dead-marches.

Money Is Power, Freedom, A Cushion, The Root Of All Evil, The Sum Of Blessings.

Who Am I, Where Have I Been, And Where Am I Going?