KICK-OFF!!
Poem by me:
on my tombstone
i made a lot of lunches
epitaph
And my beloved (Acorn):
sorry for copyright infringement [excerpt]
My Sight Sprang
My sight sprang open at
that flying mane of sunrise
colors mixed with a tarry roil
in the cauldron of worlds;
creation's acid-splatter growing
beauty's flower-tree and
mindless cannibals, cads,
rogues, godlings
talking bell-and-birdtones or noises
like some ugly-mouthed machine,
all decked out in figures of men.
Fall 1964,
The Fiddlehead.