In Memory of My Feelings And now it is the serpent's turn. I am not quite you, but almost the opposite of visionary. You are coiled around the central figure, the heart that bubbles with red ghosts, since to move is to love and the scrutiny of all things is syllogistic, the startled eyes of the dikdik, the bush full of white flags fleeing a hunter, which is our democracy but the prey is always fragile and like smething, as a seashell can be a great Courbet, if it wishes. To bend the ear of the outer world. Frank O'Hara