Page 45
By Jack Joseph Smith
When we are not the injury in the series of skins we trade,
plants and children like Dylan Thomas,
won't confuse accidents with inquisitiveness
And I have unblessed personally passed like pawn shops,
one million youngsters who enjoy extreams with electricity;
and madness is not just berserk like a shot bird
While it is of no great matter T. S. Eliot,
that we do not hear the wish the world sends when it waves;
as moderm speed has no power when it pulls
Now let anger get an ahorizon on guilt,
letting alonelessness create souls;
until the battle in civilization,
makes worried insects out of etermity's
Some say violence is not listening to the proper drun
Yet wisdom watches the hawk of the entire storm,
that draws populations like paper into hiding as halves
On overlearning wonder we trot a nice down step};
our symptoms ignoring hell cast to outsiders lost in heaves
Yet with no clash,
as in confrontation;
even swift lust,
like out of a fox,
finds no music,
or win of heir