After we lamented what had hurt us, our anger strengthened our resolve. Touched to the core by human suffering, we found we could not love. We found we could not love. We listened to Pound all night and then, the next evening, we heard the news. Nazis invaded the poems of Auden, invented stories with rumors. The rumors of the delta blues. First we witnessed the 20th century. Then, we stopped keeping track. Atrocities filmed in films stayed there, but the audience kept coming back. The audience kept coming back. The dionysian aspects of their stardom prevented the truth from being told. The music said whatever it wanted, but the journalists were bought and sold. The journalists were bought and sold. I came out of it intact, smiled shyly inside my poetry. My life went by nicely, but then came the focus on me. But then they focused on me. They asked if I would do something. They knew what they asked, and then, when I pretended I hadn't heard--- they softly asked me again. They asked me, softly, again.