--- B U C K   B U C H A N A N

a.  Meet me here in the shade and make me to lie down by shrill
waters.  Sound atomizing injured souls.  Confusing order of the souls
of screaming fishes.  Blaring red tape tangles at will, floating
through the leagues of liquid confoundment.  Things all in disarray.
Manual fusion of abstracts.  Natural fission.  Glowing heat
suppressing mankind.  The heat of animation shutting out the
possibility of enough mortal knowledge.

b.   We have gone perilously off alone, looking solely for a lonely
counter angle, hoping for a better shot at contemporary insertion.
The  crippled dirigible descending in a spiral burst toward the ocean.
The Cosmic Integration!  It is the plaintive pacific rolling queasy
over pasteurized shores.  The subtle plankton and algae that never
whimper.  The seaweed swaying gently under a million leagues.  Candid
revelation in Piscean somnolence.  The liquid that seldom reaches
torrential proportions, but anguishes in private, if at all. 

c.   So are the lonely forms that took the shape of matter, and the
mind that has made its own shape to be circular, and there is no
perfect circle.  No gentle undulation here, but a jagged crime
pounding against the undersea cliffs.  Caught in this terrible current
of stiff humanity are the exhausted remnants of confusing animation.