She had heart of darkness.
I couldn't hold my head,
Nor my eyes to the sight.
As she closed the sides down
On the bug canopy,
I took another one away.

As she says to me,
"There are two of you, don't you see?

One that kills and one that loves."  

I feel as if I've swallowed
Straight razors and snails.
Napalms and A-bombs.
Palm trees once beloved green
Blown to smithereens.

Wild and over grown
Everything and everyone.
Gardenias equal sweet peace.
Real freedom stings when
It's nothing but the "peoples"
Stark opinions of themselves.
Streaming blank bamboo shoots
Into the night's black iris.

Shadowy figures
Bend triangles into shape:
To straighten you out,
To put you down.
(Don't let them)
Their methods are unsound
Yet, I see no method to be found.
I see only the cauterized remains of
Arms, legs, hands and feet
As they sit and swing
Grossly from the burning palm trees.

There's something happening out here.

The man is clear in his mind, but his soul is mad.
He is dying, I think.
He hates all this.
He hates it!
He reads poetry out loud!
And in a voice. . .
Oh, this man and his forces.

It smelled like slow death in there, malaria, nightmares.
It was the end of the river, all right.

The great stone face of the temple shone out
As we began to fade out
Into the end. . .

Oh,

"The horror, the horror. . .**"