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BRECHT LOOKS AT X E R I S C A P I N G WITH A T H O U G H T ABOUT SHELLEY The houses of these happy souls Are empty even though they "live" in them. No one ever said the houses in Hell Are ugly; but, the masked faces Who dwell therein are as fearful Of destitution as the poor. Rain isn't good enough for the gardens Of privilege. Ifflowers Are to grow as big as Trees they require "solutions" That cost more to mix and import than I can Think about without—exploding. A man's a man. And money's money. So why be driven into a toil just because It costs more to water one lawn in Hell Than entire towns along the The Black Forest Where I wandered in my mother's womb; Where I learned, despite the primeval chill That will be in my bones until I meet my end— To somehow survive anywhere, Even exiled in Hell. I'd like to bulldoze an actor's xeriscaped backyard. I'd like to knock the bloody sod down For mocking the folk wisdom that "aman's home Is his castle" by erecting his own real imitation Castle, moat and all, And wreck it with a wrecking ball. 35 But I can't: not when, driving in my own Comfortable car, I hadn't yet recovered From the shock of having denied A bedraggled tramp's polite— (Now I'll never break free of Fritz Lang's determinist tyranny and collaborate With Preston Sturges if the "bum" was Joel McCrea researchinghis role In Sullivan's Travels!)— Request for a ride on a rainy road at nightfall, By snapping: "we're not in The service business."Everyone's Complicit. Even if I was possessed By one of my own caricatures of greed, I'm not about now to pass Judgment on Gide for contemplating his plane Tree's admirablequalities In the occupied zone During these darkening times, While I luxuriate in his wartimejournals In far-off, "sunny, Californ-i-a-yay." 36 ...

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