Any questions?
No question, OK.
One day I walked a Superstition mountain near Phoenix.
And I heard a very funny story, so I made a poem.
"At the Superstition Mountain in the Sonoran desert,
a beer-bellied man is shooting through a 50-foot saguaro
cactus with a rifle.
A couple of minutes later, the giant cactus
falls to the ground and killed the man.
April, 1984."
It's true story.
"April, 1986, in arriving at a big mountain
in Hopi and Navajo, a coyote is reading the Wall Street
Journal.
How many mice can I steal next year from the American economy?
Off the coast of Northern California,
sea lions are listening to the long-term weather
forecast on the radio.
They want to freeze dry their Redwood forest for the coming
ice age.
On the rocky ridge, somewhere in the century of nuclear power,
a family of Californian condors is watching Wild Kingdom on TV.
They ponder how many more years Homo sapiens,
one of the most endangered species, can survive."
I guess when I was writing a new poem about--
the title is "My Passport."
And desert nation gave me special citizenship
because desert knows how I love desert.
But human society I reject visa.
No thank you.
Kind of very funny poem I started now writing.
Maybe next time.