Introduction I stroll through green fields and realise I am home. I bump against soft sandalwood: a fence – And hang my head and weep
For Ginsberg, Whitman, and all the other cats clawing for tender acceptance Strolling through ashen fields in rainbow night Tugging on tender trestles of old mother crop of hair south Casting to sky thine eye as black and white lights Of rainbow night do fizzle and pop and – Oops! Great incomparable fusion atom generator on the fritz Once more the Centre of Cosmos choking and clouded with splutter. As thine eye doth dissolve and revolve and resolve and see, from vantage point on high: O Hell! O Eternal abyss of Chiaro-night, I am surrounded! Thy Holy field lies cut and sliced by old tree corpses – lined up in terrible order by tender hand imbued Thou might turn and run and screech impaled or *whisp inhaled by gasping trees, by dying trees, by dead trees who breathe. And spat upon the lawn whence thou were born, No matter the crop nor scenery.