Still I feel I am one now with dispossessed my imaginary sees encamped in the Arizona desert (along with Cochise, perhaps, and his Chiricahua over that rise there, with John Brown And Nat Turner, plotting some bloody revenge), but my peace is separate—I have O2 at night.
Colloquy for Dean Rader and Emily Dickinson; Events of 1939; Nomad Country; Lament for the Makers
