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Lost poems, stars, labor, class imagery, violence, damnation, and song collide in a page that imagines creative life as both cosmic and low-income, with a handwritten Hi Bruce trailing the typed poem.

The page pairs manifesto-like typed lines with a personal handwritten address. Poetry is cosmic and social here, but the final note pulls it back toward a specific reader or recipient.

My five thousand poems lost among the stars. Work is the way of the young. Wolves of the universe, watch dogs of lower income — soul and belly fire about the tombstone. The refusal: Play your song — I do not think so.