Frank Lima

                                                                                       painting (Alex Katz), 1964

 I have been diagnosed with the gospels of a paper life.

This is the sorrow of poetry in America. It is the smallest state in this
Wealthy country, the heady promise of high school English:
An enormously destructive idea contributing to the uncertainty of a suicide

Bomber who would rather write poetry. There is no light or sound in this
Desert, just an ill equipped hospital of common errors, booze and
Assassinations when conditions don’t improve. Why I come here is
Beyond me...

(“Chiromancy”)