Dear Jim,

Eat a potato damned American.
When I go to the beach I touch
the sand. I taste spicy crabs.
& I can hear the red bus meticulously
labeled “desiRED.” Just, it’s true.
How much lives? The rain comes then stops.
It is the martyr’s heart yields the most blood,
is merry with a love-scene, of so dim
reward an ugly wife better
than an empty house.