Poem by Kenneth Patchen
Let us have madnes openly, O men
Of my generation. Let us follow
The footsteps of this slaughtered age:
See it trail across Time's dim land
Into the closed house of eternity
With the noise That dying has,
With the face that dead things wear
Nor every say
We wanted more; we looked to find
An open door,an utter deed of love,
Transforming day's evil darkness;
But
We found extended hell and fog
Upon the earth ,and within the heads
A rotting bog of lean huge graves
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