Page 242
By Jack Joseph Smith
to the ring of, where is she coming from... where
is she coming from... where is she coming from?!!!!"
And their voices came from her having stood up
swaying, as a reef with many trees, her bright dress
wrinkling exactly with the feelings in the thick and
lower softness of the L.A. wind. She would not be a
city domesticated mother swan; for her sweet gladness
would dance! And her head had gone over the modern
desert storm as a sheba.
"Are you seeing the Ark Angel,?" spoke a light man
on his feet passing...
She had been seeing herself as one of a million centers
on the beach with no purpose or possibility. To Jiven Joe
what always was and always will be. All blown with the
wind like the song of lives in time perpetually moving in
a circle, tragic, were the people of Hart Street
to spend lives of seconds by visions they were
enclosed in.
"I am not ready to sing so softly like that soft wind
lifting her skirts for you," said Joe.
On the sixth day the young girls stood back from her
speaking out of the glare. "Lady, the men are anxious
for you."
"We are all children of the Godless gods, and the
universe is not anxious for us," she had replied.