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three views of Mt. Whitney
 
 
    Independence
 
the town screams a little dream of you
of mince pie that kind of yours
you couldn't get better in the old country
perhaps
 
and Mt. Whitney is there like a nice
poem by Robert Frost
 
 
    Lone Pine
 
it's the troublemakers make dirt of the place
see screaming the motorcyclists
burrow the furrow of dank day
in fulminous attributes
to be catalogued
 
Mt. Whitney rises catastrophically higher
than all the degrees in wisdom
 
 
    Coalinga Junction
 
the dust stops
like the bus in dead of night
nothing's open
and you can go from there
where you will to the sea
a straight shot by and by
 
and over in the other direction
Mt. Whitney a cool presence

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