I god-hell the FM. such contrast to the tone. is I hate the song on of love. I can’t hear its words. saying I god-hell much noise. I have the effort to make. I’ve had more than I can take. and to put the noise away. This pen is running thin. I remember the poem. I cannot turn it off. I’d thought it would help. but whatever reason’s lost. me. Right off I god-helled. the beat. me. I have my own heart. a different rhythm. True poetry impulses pulse. (go to now). pause.
April 1971