Page 15
By Jack Joseph Smith
the sons are of our lonelyness and thusly crul
The hoeror of pestilance revirced
is the mistrust of solitude, each in their mistrust
of theogony, all then in the curse of peace
The trust of lines, or the blood of line
The kill of the rabbit as a child,
the gun later in the dark,
angery in any neighborhood
Cross across to make things right
Proximity takes courage, which no
European has ever had; isn't it
interesting, that only distance
saves the soul, in the last two
lifetimes of course; a watchful
eye, sleek and very well cared for,
is with a lifetime given individually,
a horror; family will be shot, men will
go to wards, be happy enemy, America,
finally, out of the air we are, will