The Red Sun Was Pasted

I Walked In A Desert. And I Cried, ‘ah, God, Take Me From This Place!’ A Voice Said, ‘it Is No Desert.’ I Cried, ‘well, But - The Sand, The Heat, The Vacant Horizon.’ A Voice Said, ‘it Is No Desert.’

Such An Assemblage Of The Spraddle-legged Men Of The Middle Class, Whose Hands Were Bent And Shoulders Stooped From Delving And Constructing, Had Never Appeared To An Asbury Park Summer Crowd, And The Latter Was Vaguely Amused.

And It Was As If Fate Had Betrayed The Soldier. In Death It Exposed To His Enemies That Poverty Which In Life He Had Perhaps Concealed From His Friends.

Two Or Three Angels Came Near To The Earth. They Saw A Fat Church. Little Black Streams Of People Came And Went In Continually. And The Angels Were Puzzled To Know Why The People Went Thus, And Why They Stayed So Long Within.

Let Me Into The Darkness Again.