MY FRIEND IN A
NEW SUIT OF CLOTHES
Rocking the rollicking renegade yet again, this yardman
who dances comes running over the landscape : he is
strewing stars as he goes, throwing them over his head.
A regular new customer of some cosmic Johnny Appleseed.
I want to tell him to stand in place and realize - just to
understand - that Life turns upon itself and you cannot really
stop a thing; that armies and all their wars will puke up in
bite-sized pieces enough to ruin your day, enough to soil
your dreams; that no thing or person cares for him. And,
lastly, I want to tell about his newest suit of clothes : just
more of the old crap that never fit him anyway. Head too
small, hands too big, arms too short.
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