the long green poet has gone to hunt down the white thing;
going after the hot white thing;         beautiful light on her *** & she's ******* face down in
her big golden years gone dark   her    big earthen head made of         poetry   dead   at her age left the body living at Jesus' pottery thou art;
                his clay                             feet;   art thou in space are u in my room are my sun   ur things are already in ur room,   my queen   I thought those
                                                     looked familiar; those stars   I mean
      Medusa hard lost   hell   knew which door to open  drunk  moon in the  the sky is holding her hand how can the  blues be   told  by young   *******   poets   walking on ******* cat street   finding   hair in her  mind   ancient &  wanted  by the city fathers                   a poem   walking                 walking I