Deliberation!

3 A.M. summer nights, spent cold, curled behind a screen,

late afternoons spent typing retyping retyping in empty rooms,

brought forth a stream, a world

of fireworks and fireflies and disillusioned moths

and deliberation--a world

that, Alas!, grew stolid by its third hour--

I must publish while it is still hot!

"Spontaneous prose," Kerouac!:

oh, genuine! oh, a torrential thick mucus stream of feelings on the white!

In the past weeks, I fear I should reconsider cruel art and cold beauty and deliberating in favor of spontaneous prose (for I fear I've lost all half of my 2 readers as a result of my switch from,

and have I?) but, dear Everything!:

I cannot, cannot, cannot

and I shall not

forfeit

authenticity

.