Parading

And when the flying is flown and the heart’s

a fixed point I couldn’t seem to advance on,

Such treasure in the air,

this is pigment from a bug, this is pigment

In what distant deeps or skies

Why I’m going to the Taklamakan Desert:

forty years later and we still want justice. We are still America. We

a loud clash and an extra wagon, a sign of extra, a sac a small sac

The circle’s association: There’s a center

I had the idea that the world’s so full of pain