DON'T LOSE IT
Coming forth from nothing with nothing,
entering a newly-found woods. The forest
beckons. Like Tycho Brahe, I will conject
your elliptical orbit. Those religious types,
who swear I'm wrong, will jeopardize my
being with their cleavers, but what do they
know? Virgin births? bah!
I am hamstrung by such magics : I will walk
these Philadelphia streets plying my wares and
eating some strange bread. Flute music and these
changeable patterns. The bookstore. The police
shop. The Museum of the Contemporary Past.