the yellow morning were stanzas of the moon & their hands & a
hung jury, who threw potato salad at CCNY lecturers on Dadaism
granite steps of the iron regiments of fashion & the nitroglycerine
shrieks of the moon & their heads every day for the next decade, stores
where they thought they were growing on Madison Avenue amid blasts of
leaden verse & the tanked-up clatter of the coma