Come, slide on headlines of hungry commercial writers, glide over paragraphs of pretty prose sung by political stars who read script from box tops and cookies. Chase dots over fences of wasted hopes piled by promise-makers who lurk in alleys of disappointment, befoe the western sunrise. Sneak out the discharge tunnel whle the majority fix their tongues on salt-licks of slick detergent-opera, color added whipped dream. Let go your sanity. Clutch your identity. Relese your reputation, cling to contribution. Sell your stability, digest your credibility. Cast away your issued copy of the play. Write in secret the original new script.
Richard E. Lake
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