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The eyes of hope looking over the flare of the hood into the maw with its white line feeding in straight as an arrow, the lighting of fresh cigarettes...more

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And at night the river flows, it bears pale stars on the holy water, some sink like veils, some show like fish, the great moon that once was rose now ...more

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Here I was at the end of America - no more land - and now there was nowhere to go but back.

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So in America when the sun goes down and I sit on the old broken-down river pier watching the long, long skies over New Jersey and sense all that raw ...more

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I suddenly realized I was in California. Warm, palmy air - air you can kiss - and palms.

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Great laughter rang from all sides. I wondered what the Spirit of the Mountain was thinking, and looked up and saw jackpines in the moon, and saw ghos...more

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This is the story of America. Everybody's doing what they think they're supposed to do.