The Circle With a Hole in the Middle

America is
a crisis of now, empty
fiction of shadow

dreams, museum of
broken forms. Tomorrow is

X—science and art,
the virgin twins, foxholed in
golden skies of love.

America is
a caravan of crazy,
a century of

something else, something
in the shape of a question,
but not our question,

something in the shape
of change, friends, but not our change,
a thing whose grammar

is not human, whose
tone is the tenor of time
as a thing that keeps

a record of things,
things to come. A design call
for the body, the

head, a prime design
for time, for women, for Man,
for the hidden three . . .

For the rare music
of improvisers, meta-
language of free sound

in a suite dancing
naked in the hall with all
the neighbors, colors

dialing feelings,
an evening song opening
the town like beauty.

[assemblage composed of words from Ornette Coleman LP titles]

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