Whatever it is, it’s a passion –
a benign dementia that should be
engulfing America, fed in a way
the opposite of the way
in which the Minotaur was fed.
It’s a Midas of tenderness,
from the heart;
nothing else. From one with ability
to bear being misunderstood –
take the blame, with “nobility
that is action,” identifying itself with
pioneer unperfunctoriness

without brazenness or
bigness of overgrown
undergrown shallowness

whatever it is, let it be without
affectation.

Yes, yes, yes, yes.