From “Sometimes Tropic of New Orleans,” by Rickey Laurentiis

 However why Lie, besides in Poetry’s charred class?However Allure’s their commerce. I lie, however when it hurts to lie (See a bee)  I inform truths of their Species: what Shove its Exhausting, stinging information, uncooked, down my throat, like intercourse do, or don’t, or how doubt do. (A bee considers,amongst roses, which rose.) Higher I make this Baseborn stroll meet my minds, transient Amateurs, if I can keep in mind the road . . . an EmilyDickinson poem? . . . the road: however can recall her Staggered gait as a substitute,What goes just like the Sunday Organ: that Sincere, afferent & mad. (Amongst roses.)Can detect her Capital letters slam Accent, for Emphasis, & play Dynamic keys, since no italics can scriptin cursive—These are blueprints for me, one thing like what I hope I actually am. Or appear. Or imply.However mark it in opposition to me, that I can however barely recall or write the suitable Emily Line, for my very own digressions. (A bee glides the felt of a rose.)Now this fashion I stroll like a dream.Honey in my stroll, & I lean, now down the Avenue, pseudo-pioneer to a seized Metropolis, liege to a bee—Say, Emily, what are you aware of bees?(See the Black Heron.) I can’t recall. Didn’t you write figuring out  the very Bees Spake and Holler in my ear for—what? Sensation’s sake orFor to see?  Orangest rose, I stroll. (Felt of a rose.) I strive (Black Heron) To not cry this ecstatic world.(He eat the bee.) I worry I’ve Minds blended. Mixling, I do mixy issues.So this is the reason they banished the Poets from the Republic?Poetry walks with me every step of my mad pondering. (He flies.) Poetry in Want of Rhapsodes once more, Poetry have to be slickComprehendible by the eyes and the air—that it dare Imitate a world, whether or not or not it’s Making Confessions, whether or not or not it’s Intercourse . . .Intercourse is a Making Confession, the place Love is; Artwork is its personal Procreation—however I digress. With Stinging Consequence, Emily, all poems you left, belief,are of a lot Consequence, weeping confession, justice, twilight. However, anyway, what ought to a Lady know of Intercourse . . .That is drawn from “Demise of the First Concept.”