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Little : Oor a) of TExpera Ll. This star I found, this madness I have creates The endurance lives I¥ve touched have shown Trees whose leaves single out bodies of stars Valleys that run corn and hybiscus across creeks, and the lonely hats bent b¥ last by their family straws Rivers gullied off the canyons of disbelief Never caught to carry a century of dreams Flat nosed negros and drawed chin Anglo 8axions Roll eyed Spanish speaking knife fighters, and closed up thinned than a cross, wild American Indian drunks, All stand ike the the trees left, never to be glossed, there words unshaken, deliberate Alone our Sun is not the judge of our end, so many years from now it will come and rap it up, our obrage plays to God, the abstract one, Convincincely the one we can nof¥ see, while my luck has me in North America’ which seen is the best the planit has, and so through this we of course are fashist; afraid and stuck to our condinsation more than ever our mid western cattle and crops, we go to bed and whine our way through drawing moons, the stars tell our toil at hairdresser shops and over coffie’; while some pack up the foil of a wrench, and like Bartanion go to put brotherhood back fiovatthcie, SHES’ Papin wij /) bE bor First Te