the evenings in rose gardens and the lava and ash of poetry
scattered in fireplace Chicago, F.B.I. in beards and shorts with big
pacifist eyes sexy in their dark skin passing out incomprehensible
leaflets, the narcotic tobacco haze of Capitalism, who distributed
Supercommunist pamphlets in Union Square weeping and undressing while the
sirens down Wall, and the last furnished room a yellow paper rose
twisted on a wire hanger in