The poems to come are for you and for me and are not for mostpeople
 -it's no use trying to pretend that mostpeople and ourselves are alike.
Mostpeople have less in common with ourselves than the squarerootof-
minusone. You and I are human beings;mostpeople are snobs.
   Take the matter of being born. What does being born mean to most-
people?  Catastrophe unmitigated.  Socialrevolution.  The cultured
aristocrat yanked out of his hyperexclusively ultravoluptuous super-
palazzo,and dumped into an incredibly vulgar detentioncamp swarming
with every conceivable species of undesireable organism. Mostpeople
fancy a garanteed birthproof safetysuit of nondestructible selflessness.
If mostpeople were to be born twice they'd improbably call it dying-
   you and i are not snobs. We can never be born enough. We are human
beings;for whom birth is a supremely welcome mystery,the mystery of
growing:the mystery which happens only and whenever we are faithful
to ourselves. you and i wear the dangerous looseness of doom and find it
becoming. Life,for eternal us,is now;and now is much too busy being a
little more than everything to seem anything,catastrophic included.
   Life,for mostpeople,simply isn't. Take the socalled standardofliving.
What do mostpeople mean by "living"? They don't mean living. They
mean the latest and closest plural approximation to singular prenatal
passivity which science,in its finite but unbounded wisdom,has suc-
ceeded in selling their wives. If science could fail,a mountain's a mammal.
Mostpeople's wives can spot a genuine delusion of embryonic omni-
potence immediately and will accept no subsitutes.
  -luckily for us,a mountain is a mammal....









On the assumption that my technique is either complicated or original or both,the publishers have
politely requested me to write an introduction to this book. 

At least my theory of technique,if I have one,is very far from original;nor is it complicated. I can
express it in fifteen words,by quoting The Eternal Question And Immortal Answer of burlesk,viz.
"Would you hit a woman with a child?-No,I'd hit her with a brick." Like the burlesk comedian,I am
abnormally fond of that precision which creates movement. 

If a poet is anybody, he is somebody to whom things made matter very little-somebody who is
obsessed by Making. Like all obsessions,the Making obsession has disadvantages;for instance,my
only interest in making money would be to make it. Fortunately,however,I should prefer to make
almost anything else,including locomotives and roses. It is with roses and locomotives(not to mention
acrobats Spring electricity Coney Island the 4th of July the eyes of mice and Niagara Falls)that my
"poems" are competing. 

They are also competing with each other,with elephants,and with El Greco. 

Ineluctable preoccupation with The Verb gives a poet one priceless advantage:whereas nonmakers
must content themselves with the merely undeniable fact that two times two is four,he rejoices in a
purely irresistable truth(to be found,in abbreviated costume,upon the title page of the present
volume). 





                                      

2 little whos
(he and she)
under are this
wonderful tree

smiling stand
(all realms of where
and when beyond)
now and here

(far from a grown
-up i&you-;ful world of known)
who and who

(2 little ams
and over them this
aflame with dreams
incredible is)






a-

float on some
?
i call twilight you

'll see

an in
-ch
of an if

&

who
is the

)

more
dream than become
more

am than imagine





   

a clown's smirk in the skull of a baboon
   (where once good lips stalked or eyes firmly stirred)
   my mirror gives me,on this afternoon;
   i am a shape that can but eat and turd
   ere with the dirt death shall him vastly gird,
   a coward waiting clumsily to cease
   whom every perfect thing meanwhile doth miss;
   a hand's impression in an empty glove,
   a soon forgotten tune,a house for lease.
   I have never loved you dear as now i love
   
   
   behold this fool who,in the month of June,
   having certain stars and planets heard,
   rose very slowly in a tight balloon
   until the smallening world became absurd;
   him did an archer spy(whose aim had erred
   never)and by that little trick or this
   he shot the aeronaut down,into the abyss
   -and wonderfully i fell through the green groove
   of twilight,striking into many a piece.
   I have never loved you dear as now i love
   
   
   god's terrible face,brighter than a spoon,
   collects the image of one fatal word;
   so that my life(which liked the sun and the moon)
   resembles something that has not occurred:
   i am a birdcage without any bird,
   a collar looking for a dog,a kiss
   without lips;a prayer lacking any knees
   but something beats within my shirt to prove
   he is undead who,living,noone is.
   I have never loved you dear as now i love.
   
   
   Hell(by most humble me which shall increase)
   open thy fire!for i have had some bliss
   of one small lady upon earth above;
   to whom i cry,remembering her face,
   i have never loved you dear as now i love








all ignorance toboggans into know
and trudges up to ignorance again:
but winter's not forever,even snow
melts;and if spring should spoil the game, what then?

all history's a winter sport or three:
but were it five,i'd still insist that all
history is too small for even me;
for me and you,exceedingly too small.

Swoop(shrill colective myth)into thy grave
merely to toil the scale to shrillerness
per every madge and mabel dick and dave
--tomorrow is our permanent address

and there they'll scarcely find us(if they do,
we'll move away still further:into now


 

 



   All in green went my love riding
   on a great horse of gold
   into the silver dawn.
   
   
   four lean hounds crouched low and smiling
   the merry deer ran before.
   
   
   Fleeter be they than dappled dreams
   the swift sweet deer
   the red rare deer.
   
   
   Four red roebucks at a white water
   the cruel bugle sang before.
   
   
   Horn at hip went my love riding
   riding the echo down
   into the silver dawn.
   
   
   four lean hounds crouched low and smiling
   the level meadows ran before.
   
   
   Softer be they than slippered sleep
   the lean lithe deer
   the fleet flown deer.
   
   
   Four fleet does at a gold valley
   the famished arrow sang before.
   
   
   Bow at belt went my love riding
   riding the mountain down
   into the silver dawn.
   
   
   four lean hounds crouched low and smiling
   the sheer peaks ran before.
   
   
   Paler be they than daunting death
   the sleek slim deer
   the tall tense deer.
   
   
   Four tall stags at a green mountain
   the lucky hunter sang before.
   
   
   All in green went my love riding
   on a great horse of gold
   into the silver dawn.
   
   
   four lean hounds crouched low and smiling
   my heart fell dead before.


 



     all which isn't singing is mere talking
     and all talking's talking to oneself
     (whether that oneself be sought or seeking
     master or disciple sheep or wolf)

     gush to it as diety or devil
     -toss in sobs and reasons threats and smiles
     name it cruel fair or blessed evil-
     it is you (ne i)nobody else

     drive dumb mankind dizzy with haranguing
     -you are deafened every mother's son-
     all is merely talk which isn't singing
     and all talking's to oneself alone

     but the very song of(as mountains
     feel and lovers)singing is silence







     anyone lived in a pretty how town 
     (with up so floating many bells down) 
     spring summer autumn winter 
     he sang his didn't he danced his did 
     Women and men(both little and small) 
     cared for anyone not at all 
     they sowed their isn't they reaped their same 
     sun moon stars rain 

     children guessed(but only a few 
     and down they forgot as up they grew 
     autumn winter spring summer) 
     that noone loved him more by more 

     when by now and tree by leaf 
     she laughed his joy she cried his grief 
     bird by snow and stir by still 
     anyone's any was all to her 

     someones married their everyones 
     laughed their cryings and did their dance 
     (sleep wake hope and then)they 
     said their nevers they slept their dream 

     stars rain sun moon 
     (and only the snow can begin to explain 
     how children are apt to forget to remember 
     with up so floating many bells down) 

     one day anyone died i guess 
     (and noone stooped to kiss his face) 
     busy folk buried them side by side 
     little by little and was by was 

     all by all and deep by deep 
     and more by more they dream their sleep 
     noone and anyone earth by april 
     wish by spirit and if by yes. 

     Women and men(both dong and ding) 
     summer autumn winter spring 
     reaped their sowing and went their came 
     sun moon stars rain 







a politicain is an arse upon
which everyone has sat except a man





                                

applaws)

"fell
ow
sit
isn'ts"

(a paw s





                                     

a salesman is an it that stinks Excuse

Me whether it's president of the you were say
or a jennelman name misder finger isn't
important whether it's millions of other punks
or just a handful absolutely doesn't
matter and whether it's in lonjewray

or shrouds is immaterial it stinks

a salesman is an it that stinks to please

but whether to please itself or someone else
makes no more difference than if it sells
hate condoms education snakeoil vac
uumcleaners terror strawberries democ
ra(caveat emptor)cy superfluous hair

or Think We've Met subhuman rights Before













































   of all the blessings which to man
   kind progress doth impart
   one stands supreme i mean the an
   imal without a heart.
   
   
   Huge this collective pseudobeast
   (sans either pain or joy)
   does nothing except preexist
   its hoi in its polloi
   
   
   and if sometimes he's prodded forth
   to exercise her vote
   (or made by threats of somethings worth
   than death to change their coat
   
   
   -which something as you'll never guess
   in fifty thousand years
   equals the quote and unquote loss
   of liberty my dears-
   
   
   or even is compelled to fight
   itself from tame to teem)
   still doth our hero contemplate
   in raptures of undream
   
   
   that strictly(and how)scienti
   fic land of supernod
   where freedom is compulsory
   and only man is god.
   
   
   Without a heart the animal
   is very very kind
   so kind it wouldn't like a soul
   and couldn't use a mind



 

                              

                

i carry your heart with me(i carry it in
my heart)i am never without it(anywhere
i go you go,my dear;and whatever is done
by only me is your doing,my darling)
                                    i fear
no fate(for you are my fate,my sweet)i want
no world(for beautiful you are my world,my true)
and it's you are whatever a moon has always meant
and whatever a sun will always sing is you

here is the deepest secret nobody knows
(here is the root of the root and the bud of the bud
and the sky of the sky of a tree called life;which grows
higher than soul can hope or mind can hide)
and this is the wonder that's keeping the stars apart

i carry your heart(i carry it in my heart)







Buffalo Bill 's
defunct
        who used to
        ride a watersmooth-silver
                                  stallion
and break onetwothreefourfive pigeonsjustlikethat
                                                  Jesus

he was a handsome man
                      and what i want to know is
how do you like your blueeyed boy
Mister Death





   
   dead every enourmous piece
   of nonsense which itself must call
   a state submicroscopic is-
   compared with pitying terrible
   some alive individual
   
   
   ten centuries of original soon
   or make it ten times ten are more
   than not entitled to complain
   -plunged in eternal now if who're
   by the five nevers of a lear





                           
   dying is fine)but Death
   
   
   ?o
   baby
   i
   
   
   wouldn't like
   
   
   Death if Death
   were
   good:for
   
   
   when(instead of stopping to think)you
   
   
   begin to feel of it,dying
   's miraculous
   why?be
   
   
   cause dying is
   
   
   perfectly natural;perfectly
   putting
   it mildly lively(but
   
   
   Death
   
   
   is strictly
   scientific
   & artificial &

   
   evil & legal)
   
   
   we thank thee
   god
   almighty for dying
   (forgive us,o life!the sin of Death




enter no(silence is the blood whose flesh
is singing)silence:but unsinging.  In
spectral such hugest how hush,one

dead leaf stirring makes a crash

-far away(as far as alive)lies
april;and i breathe-move-and-seem some
perpetually roaming whylessness-

autumn has gone:will winter never come?

o come,terrible anonymity;enfold
phantom me with the murdering minus of cold
-open this ghost with millionary knives of wind-
scatter his nothing all over what angry skies and

gently
      (very whiteness:absolute peace,
never imaginable mystery)
                         descend





   here is little Effie's head
   whose brains are made of gingerbread
   when judgment day comes
   God will find six crumbs
   
   stooping by the coffinlid
   waiting for something to rise
   as the other somethings did-
   you imagine his surprise
   
   bellowing through the general noise
   Where is Effie who was dead?
   -to God in a tiny voice,
   i am may the first crumb said
   
   whereupon its fellow five
   crumbs chuckled as if they were alive
   and number two took up the song
   might i'm called and did no wrong
   
   cried the third crumb, i am should
   and this is my little sister could
   with our big brother who is would
   don't punish us for we were good;
   
   and the last crumb with some shame
   whispered unto God, my name
   is must and with the others i've
   been Effie who isn't alive
   
   just imagine it I say
   God amid a monstrous din
   watch your step and follow me
   stooping by Effie's little, in
   
   (want a match or can you see?)
   which the six subjective crumbs
   twitch like mutilated thumbs;
   picture His peering biggest whey
   
   coloured face on which a frown
   puzzles, but I know the way-
   (nervously Whose eyes approve
   the blessed while His ears are crammed
   
   with the strenuous music of
   the innumerable capering damned)
   -staring wildly up and down
   the here we are now judgment day
   
   cross the threshold have no dread
   lift the sheet back in this way
   here is little Effie's head
   whose brains are made of gingerbread

 

 
   
   as freedom is a breakfastfood
   or truth can live with right and wrong
   or molehills are from mountains made
   -long enough and just so long
   will being pay the rent of seem
   and genius please the talentgang
   and water most encourage flame
   
   
   as hatracks into peachtrees grow
   or hopes dance best on bald men's hair
   and every finger is a toe
   and any courage is a fear
   -long enough and just so long
   will the impure think all things pure
   and hornets wail by children stung
   
   
   or as the seeing are the blind
   and robins never welcome spring
   nor flatfolk prove their world is round
   nor dingsters die at break of dong
   and common's rare and millstones float
   -long enough and just so long
   tomorrow will not be too late
   
   
   worms are the words but joy's the voice
   down shall go which and up come who
   breasts will be breasts and thighs will be thighs
   deeds cannot dream what dreams can do
   -time is a tree (this life one leaf)
   but love is the sky and i am for you
   just so long and long enough






   hate blows a bubble of despair into
   hugeness world system universe and bang
   -fear buries a tomorrow under woe
   and up comes yesterday most green and young
   
   
   pleasure and pain are merely surfaces
   (one itself showing,itself hiding one)
   life's only and true value neither is
   love makes the little thickness of the coin
   
   
   comes here a man would have from madame death
   nevertheless now and without winter spring?
   she'll spin that spirit her own fingers with
   and give him nothing (if he should not sing)
   
   
   how much more than enough for both of us
   darling. And if i sing you are my voice,




   
   
   Humanity i love you
   because you would rather black the boots of
   success than enquire whose soul dangles from his
   watch-chain which would be embarrassing for both
   
   
   parties and because you
   unflinchingly applaud all
   songs containing the words country home and
   mother when sung at the old howard
   
   
   Humanity i love you because
   when you're hard up you pawn your
   intelligence to buy a drink and when
   you're flush pride keeps
   
   
   you from the pawn shop and
   because you are continually committing
   nuisances but more
   especially in your own house
   
   
   Humanity i love you because you
   are perpetually putting the secret of
   life in your pants and forgetting
   it's there and sitting down
   
   
   on it
   and because you are
   forever making poems in the lap
   of death Humanity
   
   
   i hate you





        i have found what you are like
        the rain,

                (Who feathers frightened fields
        with the superior dust-of-sleep. wields

        easily the pale club of the wind
        and swirled justly souls of flower strike

        the air in utterable coolness

        deeds of green thrilling light
                                      with thinned

        newfragile yellows

                          lurch and.press

        -in the woods
                     which
                          stutter
                                 and

                                    sing

        And the coolness of your smile is
        stirringofbirds between my arms;but
        i should rather than anything
        have(almost when hugeness will shut
        quietly)almost,
                       your kiss






   i like my body when it is with your
   body. It is so quite a new thing.
   Muscles better and nerves more.
   i like your body. i like what it does,
   i like its hows. i like to feel the spine
   of your body and its bones, and the trembling
   -firm-smooth ness and which i will
   again and again and again
   kiss, i like kissing this and that of you,
   i like,, slowly stroking the, shocking fuzz
   of your electric fur, and what-is-it comes
   over parting flesh . . . . And big love-crumbs,
   
   and possibly i like the thrill
   
   of under me you quite so new




    
if i have made,my lady,intricate
imperfect various things chiefly which wrong
your eyes(frailer than most deep dreams are frail)
songs less firm than your body's whitest song
upon my mind-if i have failed to snare
the glance too shy-if through my singing slips
the very skillful strangeness of your smile
the keen primeval silence of your hair

-let the world say "his most wise music stole
nothing from death"-
                    you only will create
(who are so perfectly alive)my shame:
lady through whose profound and fragile lips
the sweet small clumsy feet of April came

into the ragged meadow of my soul.

   
   


  

in spite of everything
which breathes and moves,since Doom
(with white longest hands
neatening each crease)
will smooth entirely our minds

-before leaving my room
i turn,and(stooping
through the morning)kiss
this pillow,dear
where our heads lived and were.

 


        it is at moments after i have dreamed
        of the rare entertainment of your eyes,
        when (being fool to fancy) i have deemed

        with your peculiar mouth my heart made wise;
        at moments when the glassy darkness holds

        the genuine apparition of your smile
        (it was through tears always)and silence moulds
        such strangeness as was mine a little while;

        moments when my once more illustrious arms
        are filled with fascination, when my breast
        wears the intolerant brightness of your charms:

        one pierced moment whiter than the rest

        -turning from the tremendous lie of sleep
        i watch the roses of the day grow deep.

              


   
   it may not always be so;and i say
   that if your lips,which i have loved,should touch
   another's,and your dear strong fingers clutch
   his heart,as mine in time not far away;
   if on another's face your sweet hair lay
   in such a silence as i know,or such
   great writhing words as,uttering overmuch,
   stand helplessly before the spirit at bay;
   
   
   if this should be,i say if this should be-
   you of my heart,send me a little word;
   that i may go unto him,and take his hands,
   saying,Accept all happiness from me.
   Then shall i turn my face,and hear one bird
   sing terribly afar in the lost lands.





   kumrads die because they're told)
   kumrads die before they're old
   (kumrads aren't afraid to die
   kumrads don't
   and kumrads won't
   believe in life) and death knows whie
   
   
   (all good kumrads you can tell
   by their altruistic smell
   moscow pipes good kumrads dance)
   kumrads enjoy
   s.freud knows whoy
   the hope that you may mess your pance
   
   
   every kumrad is a bit
   of quite unmitigated hate
   (travelling in a futile groove
   god knows why)
   and so do i
   (because they are afraid to love







   may my heart always be open to little
   birds who are the secrets of living
   whatever they sing is better than to know
   and if men should not hear them men are old
   
   
   may my mind stroll about hungry
   and fearless and thirsty and supple
   and even if it's sunday may i be wrong
   for whenever men are right they are not young
   
   
   and may myself do nothing usefully
   and love yourself so more than truly
   there's never been quite such a fool who could fail
   pulling all the sky over him with one smile






   may i feel said he
   (i'll squeal said she
   just once said he)
   it's fun said she
   
   
   (may i touch said he
   how much said she
   a lot said he)
   why not said she
   
   
   (let's go said he
   not too far said she
   what's too far said he
   where you are said she)
   
   
   may i stay said he
   (which way said she
   like this said he
   if you kiss said she
   
   
   may i move said he
   is it love said she)
   if you're willing said he
   (but you're killing said she
   
   
   but it's life said he
   but your wife said she
   now said he)
   ow said she
   
   
   (tiptop said he
   don't stop said she
   oh no said he)
   go slow said she
   
   
   (cccome?said he
   ummm said she)
   you're divine!said he
   (you are Mine said she)







Me up at does

out of the floor
quietly Stare

a poisoned mouse


still who alive

is asking What
have i done that

You wouldn't have







   in a middle of a room
   stands a suicide
   sniffing a Paper rose
   smiling to a self
   
   "somewhere it is Spring and sometimes
   people are in real:imagine
   somewhere real flowers,but
   I can't imagine real flowers for if I
   
   could,they would somehow
   not Be real"
   (so he smiles
   smiling)"but I will not
   
   everywhere be real to
   you in a moment"
   The is blond
   with small hands
   
   "& everything is easier
   than I had guessed everything would
   be;even remembering the way who
   looked at whom first,anyhow dancing"
   
   (a moon swims out of a cloud
   a clock strikes midnight
   a finger pulls a trigger
   a bird flies into a mirror)






if you like my poems let them
walk in the evening,a little behind you

then people will say
"Along this road i saw a princess pass
on her way to meet her lover(it was
toward nightfall)with tall and ignorant servants."

   
   


  
   
   i sing of Olaf glad and big
   whose warmest heart recoiled at war:
   a conscientious object-or
   
   his wellbelovéd colonel (trig
   westpointer most succinctly bred)
   took erring Olaf soon in hand;
   but-though an host of overjoyed
   noncoms (first knocking on the head
   him) do through icy waters roll
   that helplessness which others stroke
   with brushes recently employed
   anent this muddy toiletbowl,
   while kindred intellects evoke
   allegiance per blunt instruments-
   Olaf (being to all intents
   a corpse and wanting any rag
   upon what God unto him gave)
   responds, without getting annoyed
   "I will not kiss your fucking flag"
   
   straightaway the silver bird looked grave
   (departing hurriedly to shave)
   
   but-though all kinds of officers
   (a yearning nation's blueeyed pride)
   their passive prey did kick and curse
   until for wear their clarion
   voices and boots were much the worse,
   and egged the firstclassprivates on
   his rectum wickedly to tease
   by means of skillfully applied
   bayonets roasted hot with heat-
   Olaf (upon what were once knees)
   does almost ceaselessly repeat
   "there is some shit I will not eat"
   
   our president,being of which
   assertions duly notified
   threw the yellowsonofabitch
   into a dungeon,where he died
   
   Christ (of His mercy infinite)
   i pray to see;and Olaf,too
   
   preponderatingly because
   unless statistics lie he was
   more brave than me:more blond than you







(once like a spark)

if strangers meet
life begins-
not poor not rich
(only aware)
kind neither
nor cruel
(only complete)
i not not you
not possible;
only truthful
-truthfully,once
if strangers(who
deep our most are
selves)touch:
forever

(and so to dark)







proud of his scientific attitude

and liked the prince of wales wife wants to die
but the doctors won't let her comman considers frood
whom he pronounces young mistaken and
cradles in rubbery one somewhat hand
the paper destinies of nations sic
item a bounceless period unshy
the empty house is full O Yes of guk
rooms daughter item son a woopsing queer
colon hobby photography never has plumbed
the heights of prowst but respects artists if
they are sincere proud of his scientif
ic attitude and liked the king of)hear

ye!the godless are the dull and the dull are the damned




                       

O sweet spontaneous
earth how often have
the
doting

        fingers of
prurient philosophers pinched
and
poked

thee
,has the naughty thumb
of science prodded
thy

        beauty  .how
often have religions taken
thee upon their scraggy  knees
squeezing and

buffeting thee that thou mightest conceive
gods
        (but
true

to the incomparable
couch of death thy
rhythmic
lover

        thou answerest


them only with

                spring)






   
   who sharpens every dull
   here comes the only man
   reminding with his bell
   to disappear a sun
   
   
   and out of houses pour
   maids mothers widows wives
   bringing this visitor
   their very oldest lives
   
   
   one pays him with a smile
   another with a tear
   some cannot pay at all
   he never seems to care
   
   
   he sharpens is to am
   he sharpens say to sing
   you'd almost cut your thumb
   so right he sharpens wrong
   
   
   and when their lives are keen
   he throws the world a kiss
   and slings his wheel upon
   his back and off he goes
   
   
   but we can hear him still
   if now our sun is gone
   reminding with his bell
   to reappear a moon




 
   speaking of love(of
   which Who knows the
   meaning;or how dreaming
   becomes
   
   
   if your heart's mind)i
   guess a grassblade
   Thinks beyond or
   around(as poems are
   
   
   made)Our picking it. this
   caress that laugh
   both quickly signify
   life's only half(through
   
   
   deep weather then
   or none let's feel
   all)mind in mind flesh
   In flesh succeeding disappear






silence

.is
a
looking

bird:the

turn
ing;edge,of
life

(inquiry before snow





   
   the boys i mean are not refined
   they go with girls who buck and bite
   they do not give a fuck for luck
   they hump them thirteen times a night
   
   one hangs a hat upon her tit
   one carves a cross on her behind
   they do not give a shit for wit
   the boys i mean are not refined
   
   they come with girls who bite and buck
   who cannot read and cannot write
   who laugh like they would fall apart
   and masturbate with dynamite
   
   the boys i mean are not refined
   they cannot chat of that and this
   they do not give a fart for art
   they kill like you would take a piss
   
   they speak whatever's on their mind
   they do whatever's in their pants
   the boys i mean are not refined
   they shake the mountains when they dance





up into the silence the green
silence with a white earth in it

you will (kiss me) go

out into the morning the young
morning with a warm world in it

(kiss me) you will go

on into the sunlight the fine
sunlight with a firm day in it

you will go (kiss me

down into your memory and
a memory and memory

i) kiss me (will go)





   
   this(let's remember)day died again and
   again;whose golden,crimson dooms conceive
   
   
   an oceaning abyss of orange dream
   
   
   larger than sky times earth:a flame beyond
   soul immemorially forevering am-
   and as collapsing that grey mind by wave
   doom disappeared,out of perhaps(who knows?)
   
   
   eternity floated a blossoming
   
   
   (while anyone might slowly count to soon)
   rose-did you see her?darling,did you(kiss
   me)quickly count to never?you were wrong
   
   
   -then all the way from perfect nowhere came
   
   
   (as easily as we forget something)
   livingest the imaginable moon





        this is the garden: colours come and go,
        frail azures fluttering from night's outer wing
        strong silent greens serenely lingering,
        absolute lights like baths of golden snow.
        This is the garden: pursed lips do blow
        upon cool flutes within wide glooms, and sing
        (of harps celestial to the quivering string)
        invisible faces hauntingly and slow.

        This is the garden.   Time shall surely reap
        and on Death's blade lie many a flower curled,
        in other lands where other songs be sung;
        yet stand They here enraptured, as among
        The slow deep trees perpetual of sleep
        some silver-fingered fountain steals the world.




   
   what if a much of a which of a wind
   gives the truth to summer's lie;
   bloodies with dizzying leaves the sun
   and yanks immortal stars awry?
   Blow king to beggar and queen to seem
   (blow friend to fiend:blow space to time)
   -when skies are hanged and oceans drowned,
   the single secret will still be man
   
   what if a keen of a lean wind flays
   screaming hills with sleet and snow:
   strangles valleys by ropes of thing
   and stifles forests in white ago?
   Blow hope to terror;blow seeing to blind
   (blow pity to envy and soul to mind)
   -whose hearts are mountains,roots are trees,
   it's they shall cry hello to the spring
   
   what if a dawn of a doom of a dream
   bites this universe in two,
   peels forever out of his grave
   and sprinkles nowhere with me and you?
   Blow soon to never and never to twice
   (blow life to isn't:blow death to was)
   -all nothing's only our hugest home;
   the most who die,the more we live




     
   )when what hugs stopping earth than silent is
   more silent than more than much more is or
   total sun oceaning than any this
   tear jumping from each most least eye of star
   
   
   and without was if minus and shall be
   immeasurable happenless unnow
   shuts more than open could that every tree
   or than all life more death begins to grow
   
   
   end's ending then these dolls of joy and grief
   these recent memories of future dream
   these perhaps who have lost their shadows if
   which did not do the losing spectres mime
   
   
   until out of merely not nothing comes
   only one snowflake(and we speak our names





                     
   when hair falls off and eyes blur And
   thighs forget(when clocks whisper
   and night shouts)When minds
   shrivel and hearts grow brittler every
   Instant(when of a morning Memory stands,
   with clumsily wilted fingers
   emptying youth colour and what was
   into a dirtied glass)Pills for Ills
   (a recipe against Laughing Virginity Death)
   
   
   then dearest the
   way trees are made leaves
   open Clouds take sun mountains
   stand And oceans do Not sleep matters
   nothing;then(then the only hands so to speak are
   they always which creep budgingly over some
   numbered face capable of a largest nonglance the
   least unsmile
   or whatever weeds feel and fish think of)





 
   
   you shall above all things be glad and young
   For if you're young,whatever life you wear
   
   
   it will become you;and if you are glad
   whatever's living will yourself become.
   Girlboys may nothing more than boygirls need:
   i can entirely her only love
   
   
   whose any mystery makes every man's
   flesh put space on;and his mind take off time
   
   
   that you should ever think,may god forbid
   and (in his mercy) your true lover spare:
   for that way knowledge lies,the foetal grave
   called progress,and negation's dead undoom.
   
   
   I'd rather learn from one bird how to sing
   than teach ten thousand stars how not to dance


   


   
    
   Jehovah buried,Satan dead,
   do fearers worship Much and Quick;
   badness not being felt as bad,
   itself thinks goodness what is meek;
   obey says toc,submit says tic,
   Eternity's a Five Year Plan:
   if Joy with Pain shall hand in hock
   who dares to call himself a man?
   
   
   go dreamless knaves on Shadows fed,
   your Harry's Tom,your Tom is Dick;
   while Gadgets murder squack and add,
   the cult of Same is all the chic;
   by instruments,both span and spic,
   are justly measured Spic and Span:
   to kiss the mike if Jew turn kike
   who dares to call himself a man?
   
   
   loudly for Truth have liars pled,click;
   where Boobs are holy,poets mad,
   illustrious punks of Progress shriek;
   when Souls are outlawed,Hearts are sick,
   Hearts being sick,Minds nothing can:
   if Hate's a game and Love's a /phi/ /upsilon/ /chi/
   who dares to call himself a man?
   
   
   King Christ,this world is all aleak;
   and lifepreservers there are none:
   and waves which only He may walk
   Who dares to call Himself a man.




Note:  the last word of line 23 is the three Greek letter indicated




                                       

"next to of course god america i
love you land of the pilgrims' and so forth oh
say can you see by the dawn's early my
country tis of centuries come and go
and are no more what of it we should worry
in every language even deafanddumb
thy sons acclaim your glorious name by gorry
by jingo by gee by gosh by gum
why talk of beauty what could be more beaut-
iful than these heroic happy dead
who rushed like lions to the roaring slaughter
they did not stop to think they died instead
then shall the voice of liberty be mute?"

He spoke.  And drank rapidly a glass of water

   


   

i shall imagine life
is not worth dying,if
(and when)roses complain
their beauties are in vain

but though mankind persuades
itself that every weed's
a rose,roses(you feel
certain)will only smile

 





l(a

le
af
fa
ll

s)
one
l

iness





 

i thank You God for most this amazing
day:for the leaping greenly spirits of trees
and a blue true dream of sky;and for everything
wich is natural which is infinite which is yes

(i who have died am alive again today,
and this is the sun's birthday;this is the birth
day of life and love and wings:and of the gay
great happening illimitably earth)

how should tasting touching hearing seeing
breathing any-lifted from the no
of all nothing-human merely being
doubt unimaginably You?

(now the ears of my ears awake and
now the eyes of my eyes are opened)

   
   




your little voice
                Over the wires came leaping
and i felt suddenly
dizzy
     With the jostling and shouting of merry flowers
wee skipping high-heeled flames
courtesied before my eyes
                         or twinkling over to my side
Looked up
with impertinently exquisite faces
floating hands were laid upon me
I was whirled and tossed into delicious dancing
up
Up
with the pale important
                       stars and the Humorous
                                             moon
dear girl
How i was crazy how i cried when i heard
                                        over time
and tide and death
leaping
Sweetly
       your voice

    

 

     since feeling is first 
     who pays any attention 
     to the syntax of things 
     will never wholly kiss you 
     wholly to be a fool 
     while Spring is in the world 

     my blood approves, 
     and kisses are a better fate 
     than wisdom 
     lady i swear by all flowers. Don't cry 
     the best gesture of my brain is less than 
     your eyelids' flutter which says 

     we are for each other: then 
     laugh, leaning back in my arms 
     for life's not a paragraph 

     and death i think is no parenthesis 

          




     who are you, litle i 

     (five or six years old) 
     peering from some high 

     window; at the gold 

     of november sunset 

     (and feeling: that if day 
     has to become night 

     this is a beautiful way) 

       




     maggie and millie and molly and may 
     went down to the beach (to play one day) 

     and maggie discovered a shell that sang 
     so sweetly she couldn't remember her troubles,and 

     millie befriended a stranded star 
     who's rays five languid fingers were; 

     and molly was chased by a horrible thing 
     which raced sideways while blowing bubbles:and 

     may came home with a smooth round stone 
     as small as a world and as large as alone. 

     For whatever we lose(like a you or a me) 
     it's always ourselves we find in the sea. 

      




     o by the by 
     has anybody seen 
     little you-i 
     who stood on the green 
     hill and threw 
     his wish at blue 

     with a swoop and a dart 
     out flew his wish 
     (it dived like a fish 
     but it climbed like a dream) 
     throbbing like a heart 
     singing like a flame 

     blue took it my 
     far beyond far 
     and high beyond high 
     bluer took it your 
     but bluest took it our 
     away beyond where 

     what a wonderful thing 
     is the end of a string 
     (murmurs little you-i 
     as the hill becomes nil) 
     and will somebody tell 
     me why people let go 

      




     Spring is like a perhaps hand 
     (which comes carefully 
     out of Nowhere)arranging 
     a window,into which people look(while 
     people stare 
     arranging and changing placing 
     carefully there a strange 
     thing and a known thing here)and 

     changing everything carefully 

     spring is like a perhaps 
     Hand in a window 
     (carefully to 
     and fro moving New 
     and Old things,while 
     people stare carefully 
     moving a perhaps 
     fraction of flower here placing 
     an inch of air there)and 

     without breaking anything. 

        




     yes is a pleasant country: 
     if's wintry 
     (my lovely) 
     let's open the year 

     both is the very weather 
     (not either) 
     my treasure, 
     when violets appear 

     love is a deeper season 
     than reason; 
     my sweet one 
     (and april's where we're) 






     silently if,out of not knowable 
     night's utmost nothing,wanders a little guess 
     (only which is this world)more my life does 
     not leap than with the mystery your smile 

     sings or if(spiralling as luminous 
     they climb oblivion)voices who are dreams, 
     less into heaven certainly earth swims 
     than each my deeper death becomes your kiss 

     losing through you what seemed myself,i find 
     selves unimaginably mine;beyond 
     sorrow's own joys and hoping's very fears 

     yours is the light by which my spirit's born: 
     yours is the darkness of my soul's return 
     -you are my sun,my moon,and all my stars 

        




     the wind is a Lady with 
     bright slender eyes(who 

     moves)at sunset 
     and who--touches--the 
     hills without any reason 

     (i have spoken with this 
     indubitable and green person "Are 
     You the Wind?" "Yes" "why do you touch flowers 
     as if they were unalive,as 

     if They were ideas?" "because,sir 
     things which in my mind blossom will 
     stumble beneath a clumsiest disguise,appear 
     capable of fragility and indecision 

     --do not suppose these 
     without any reason and otherwise 
     roses and mountains 
     different from the i am who wanders 

     imminently across the renewed world" 
     to me said the)wind being A lady in a green 
     dress,who;touches:the fields 
     (at sunset) 

         

       




     my sweet old etcetera 
     aunt lucy during the recent 

     war could and what 
     is more did tell you just 
     what everybody was fighting 

     for, 
     my sister 
     isabel created hundreds 
     (and 
     hundreds)of socks not to 
     mention shirts fleaproof earwarmers 

     etcetera wristers etcetera, my 
     mother hoped that 

     i would die etcetera 
     bravely of course my father used 
     to become hoarse talking about how it was 
     a privilege and if only he 
     could meanwhile my 

     self etcetera lay quietly 
     in the deep mud et 

     cetera 
     (dreaming, 
     et 
          cetera, of 
     Your smile 
     eyes knees and of your Etcetera) 

         




     when life is quite through with 
     and leaves say alas, 
     much is to do 
     for the swallow,that closes 
     a flight in the blue; 

     when love's had his tears out, 
     perhaps shall pass 
     a million years 
     (while a bee dozes 
     on the poppies,the dears; 

     when all's done and said,and 
     under the grass 
     lies her head 
     by oaks and roses deliberated.) 

       


     

     in time of daffodils(who know 
     the goal of living is to grow) 
     forgetting why,remembering how 

     in time of lilacs who proclaim 
     the aim of waking is to dream, 
     remember so(forgetting seem) 

     in time of roses(who amaze 
     our now and here with praise) 
     forgetting if,remember yes 

     in time of all sweet things beyond 
     whatever mind may comprehend, 
     remember seek(forgetting find) 
     and in a mystery to be 
     (when time from time shall set us free) 
     forgetting me,remember me 

          




     Now i lay(with everywhere around) 
     me(the great dim deep sound 
     of rain;and of always and of nowhere)and 

     what a gently welcoming darkness-- 

     now i lay me down(in a most steep 
     more than music)feeling that sunlight is 
     (life and day are)only loaned;whereas 
     night is given(night and death and the rain 

     are given;and given is how beautifully snow) 

     now i lay me down to dream of(nothing 

     i or any somebody or you 
     can begin to begin to imagine) 

     something which nobody may keep, 
     now i lay me down to dream of Spring 

         




     why 
     do the 
     fingers 

     of the lit 
     tle once beau 
     tiful la 

     dy(sitting sew 
     ing at an o 
     pen window this 
     fine morning)fly 

     instead of dancing 
     are they possibly 
     afraid that life is 
     running away from 
     them(i wonder)or 

     isnt't she a 
     ware that life(who 
     never grows old) 
     is always beau 

     tiful and 
     that nobod 
     y beauti 

     ful ev 
     er hur 

     ries 

         




     In Just- 
     spring when the world is mud- 
     luscious the little 
     lame balloonman 

     whistles far and wee 

     and eddieandbill come 
     running from marbles and 
     piracies and it's 
     spring 

     when the world is puddle-wonderful 

     the queer 
     old balloonman whistles 
     far and wee 
     and bettyandisbel come dancing 

     from hop-scotch and jump-rope and 

          it's 
          spring 
          and 
                 the 

                           goat-footed 

          balloonMan whistles 
          far 
          and 
          wee 

     




     this little bride & groom are 
     standing)in a kind 
     of crown he dressed 
     in black candy she 

     veiled with candy white 
     carrying a bouquet of 
     pretend flowers this 
     candy crown with this candy 

     little bride & little 
     groom in it kind of stands on 
     a thin ring which stands on a much 
     less thin very much more 

     big & kinder of ring & which 
     kinder of stands on a 
     much more than very much 
     biggest & thickest & kindest 

     of ring & all one two three rings 
     are cake & everything is protected by 
     cellophane against anything(because 
     nothing really exists 

          




     somewhere i never travelled,gladly beyond 
     any experience, your eyes have their silence: 
     in your most frail getures are things which enclose me, 
     or which i cannot touch because they are too near 

     your slightest look easily will unclose me 
     though i have closed myself as fingers, 
     you open always petel by petel myself as Spring opens 
     (touching skilfully, mysteriously) her first rose 

     or if you wish to be close me,i an 
     my life will shut very beautifully,suddenly, 
     as when the heart of this flower imagines 
     the snow carefully everywhere descending; 

     nothing which we are to preceive in this world equals 
     the power of your intense fragility:whose texture 
     compels me with the colour of its countries, 
     rendering death and forever with each breathing 

     (i do not know what it is about you that closes 
     and opens;only somethingin me understands 
     the voice of your eyes is deeper than all roses) 
     nobody,not even the rain,has such small hands 
         






but if a living dance upon dead minds
why, it is love; but at the earliest spear
of sun perfectly should disappear
moon's utmost magic, or stones speak or one
name control more incredible splendor than
our merely universe, love's also there:
and being here imprisoned, tortured here
love everywhere exploding maims and blinds
(but surely does not forget, perish, sleep
cannot be photographed, measured; disdains
the trivial labelling of punctual brains...
- Who wields a poem huger than the grave?
from only Whom shall time no refuge keep
though all the weird worlds must be opened?
                                           ) Love

      




here's to opening and upward, to leaf and to sap
and to your(in my arms flowering so new)
self whose eyes smell of the sound of rain

and here's to silent certainly mountains;and to
a disappearing poet of always,snow
and to morning;and to morning's beautiful friend
twilight(and a first dream called ocean)and

let must or if be damned with whomever's afraid
down with ought with because with every brain
which thinks it thinks,nor dares to feel(but up
with joy;and up with laughing and drunkenness)

here's to one undiscoverable guess
of whose mad skill each world of blood is made
(whose fatal songs are moving in the moon

             




luminous tendril of celestial wish

(whying diminutive bright deathlessness
to these my not themselves believing eyes
adventuring,enormous nowhere from)

quering affirmation;virginal

immedicay of precision:more
and perfectly more most ethereal
silence through twilight's mystery made flesh-

dreamslender exquisite white firstful flame

-new mon!as(by the miracle of your
sweet innocence refuted)clumsy some
dull cowardice called a world vanishes,

teach disappearing also me the keen
illimitable secret of begin

                




no man,if men are gods;but if gods must
be men,the sometimes only man is this
(most common,for each anguish is his grief;
and,for his joy is more than joy,most rare)

a fiend,if fiends speak truth;if angels burn

by their own generous compeletely light,
an angel;or(as various worlds he'll spurn
rather than fail immeasurable fate)
coward,clown,traitor,idiot,dreamer,beast-

such was a poet and shall be and is

-who'll solve the dpeths of horror to defend
a sunbeam's architecture with his life:
and carve immortal jungles of despair
to hold a mountain's hearbeat in his hand

                




nothing false and possible is love
(who's imagined,therefore is limitless)
love's to giving as to keeping's give;
as yes is to if,love is to yes

must's a schoolroom in the month of may:
life's the deathboard where all now turns when
(love's a universe beyond obey
or command,reality or un-)

proudly depths above why's first because
(faith's last doubt and humbly heights below)
kneeling,we-true lovers-pray that us
will ourselves continue to outgrow

all whose mosts if you have known and i've
only we our least begin to guess

                




pity this busy monster,manunkind,

not. Progress is a comfortable disease:
your victum(death and life safely beyond)

plays with the bigness of his littleness
-electrons deify one razorblade
into a mountainrage;lenses extend

unwish through curving wherewhen until unwish
returns on its unself.
                        A world of made
is not a world of born-pity poor flesh

and trees,poor stars and stones,but never this
fine specimen of hypermagical

ultraomnipotence. We doctors know

a hopeless case if-listen:there's a hell
of a good universe next door;let's go

             




voices to voices, lip to lip
i swear (to noone everyone) constitutes
undying; or whatever this and that petal confutes . . .
to exist being a peculiar form of sleep

what's beyond logic happens beneath will;
nor can these moments be translated: i say
that even after April
by God there is no excuse for May

-bring forth your flowers and machinery: scuplture and prose
flowers guess and miss
machinery is the more accurate, yes
it delivers the goods, Heaven knows

(yet are we mindful, though not as yet awake,
of ourselves which shout and cling, being
for a little while and which easily break
ins pite of the best overseeing)

i mean that the blond abscence of any program
except last and always and first to live
makes unimportant what i and you belive;
not for philosophy does this rose give a damn. . .

bring on your fireworks, which are a mixed
splendor of piston and of pistil; very well
provided an instant may be fixed
so that it will not rub, like any other pastel.

(While you and i have lips and voices which
are for kissing and to sing with
who cares if some oneyed son for a bitch
invents an instrument to measure Spring with?

each dream nascitur, is not made . . . )
why then to Hell with that: the other; this,
since the thing perhaps is
to eat flower and not to be afraid.

               




when faces called flowers float out of the ground
and breathing is wishing and wishing is having-
but keeping is downward and doubting and never
-it's april(yes,april;my darling)it's spring!
yes the pretty birds frolic as spry as can fly
yes the little fish gambol as glad as can be
(yes the mountains are dancing together)

when every leaf opens without any sound
and wishing is having and having is giving-
but keeping is doting and nothing and nonsense
-alive;we're alive,dear:it's(kiss me now)spring!
now the pretty birds hover so she and so he
now the little fish quiver so you and so i
(now the mountains are dancing, the mountains)

when more than was lost has been found has been found
and having is giving and giving is living-
but keeping is darkness and winter and cringing
-it's spring(all our night becomes day)o,it's spring!
all the pretty birds dive to the heart of the sky
all the little fish climb through the mind of the sea
(all the mountains are dancing;are dancing)

                



when serpents bargain for the right to squirm
and the sun strikes to gain a living wage-
when thorns regard their roses with alarm
and rainbows are insured against old age

when every thrush may sing no new moon in
if all screech-owls have not okayed his voice
-and any wave signs on the dotted line
or else an ocean is compelled to close

when the oak begs permission of the birch
to make an acorn-valleys accuse their
mountains of having altitude-and march
denounces april as a saboteur

then we'll believe in that incredible
unanimal mankind(and not until)

             




nonun blob a
cold to
skylessness
sticking fire

my are your
are birds our all
and one gone
away the thry

leaf of ghosts some
few creep there
here or on
unearth





neither could say
(it comes so slow
not since not why)
both didn't know

exeunt they
(not false not true
not you not i)
it comes so who




                                

it's over a(see just
over this)wall
the apples are(yes
they're gravensteins)all
as red as to lose
and as round as to find.

Each why of a leaf says
(loating each how)
you're which as to die
(each green of a new)
you're who as to grow
but you're he as to do

what must(whispers)be must
be(the wise fool)
if living's to give
so breathing's to steal--
five wishes are five
and one hand is a mind

then over our thief goes
(you go and i)
has pulled(for he's we)
such fruit from what bough
that someone called they
made him pay with his now.

But over a(see just
over this)wall
the red and the round
(they're gravensteins)fall
with a kind of a blind
big sound on the ground






squints a blond
job at her
diamond
solitaire

while guesswho nibbles his ton of torse

squirms a pool
of pink fat
screams a hole
in it

that birth was wicked and life is worse

squats a big
dove on g
w's wig
so what he

is much to busy sitting the horse





my(his from daughter's mother's zero mind
fahrenheit)old infrequently more and
more much(as aprils elsewhere stroll)exhumed

most innocently undecaying friend
hangs at yon gilty ceiling per both pale
orbs thus excluding a leanderless

drowning in sub(at the next)nakedness
(table but three)hero's carnivorous(smile
by lipstick smell by matchabelli)tits

as(while thumb a plus fingers all with blind
him of who)i discreetly(masturbates
on honestly breadcrumb)say "i understand

quite what you mean by"
                       sold!to the dollarful shea
with a weakness for living literature
                                     "loyaltea"





ygUDuh

      ydoan
      yunnuhstan

      ydoan o
      yunnuhstan dem
      yguduh ged

      yunnuhstan dem doidee
      yguduh ged riduh
      ydoan o nudh
LISN bud LISN
             dem
             gud
             am

             lidl yelluh bas
             tuds weer goin

duhSIVILEYEzum

                                     


                                 

mr u will not be missed
who as an anthologist
sold the many on the few
not excluding mr u






it was a goodly co
which paid to make man free
(for man is enslaved by a dread dizziz
and the sooner it's over the sooner to biz
don't ask me what it's pliz)

then up rose bishop budge from kew
a anglican was who
(with a rag and a bone and a hank of hair)'d
he picked up a thousand pounds or two
and he smote the monster merde

then up rose pride and up rose pelf
and ghibelline and guelph
and ladios and laddios
(on radios and raddios)
did save man from himself

ye duskiest despot's goldenest gal
did wring that dragon's tail
(for men must loaf and women must lay)
and she gave him a desdemonial
that took his breath away

all history oped her teeming womb
said demon for to doom
yea(fresh complexions being oke
with him)one william shakespeare broke
the silence of the tomb

then up rose my lipshits pres
(who always nothing says)
and he kisséd the general menedjerr
and they smokéd a robert burns cigerr
to the god of things like they err





plato told

him:he couldn't
believe it(jesus

told him;he
wouldn't believe
it)lao

tsze
certainly told
him,and general
(yes

mam)
sherman;
and even
(believe it
or

not)you
told him:i told
him;we told him
(he didn't believe it,no

sir)it took
a nipponized bit of
the old sixth

avenue
el;in the top of his head:to tell

him








("fire stop thief help murder save the world"

what world?
           is it themselves these insects mean?
when microscopic shriekings shall have snarled
threads of celestial silence huger than
eternity,men will be saviors
                            --flop
grasshopper,exactly nothing's soon;
scream,all ye screamers,till your if is up
and vanish under prodigies of un)

"have you" the mountain,while his maples wept
air to blood,asked "something a little child
who's just as small as me can do or be?"
god whispered him a snowflake "yes:you may
sleep now,my mountain" and this mountain slept

while his pines lifted their green and smiled







this evangelist
buttons with his big gollywog voice
the kingdomofheaven up behind and crazily
skating thither and hither in filthy sawdust
chucks and rolls
against the tent his thick joggling fists

he is persuasive

the editor cigarstinking hobgoblin swims
upward in his swivelchair one fist dangling scandal while
five other fingers snitch
rapidly through mist a defunct king as

linotypes gobblehobble

our lightheavy twic twoc ingly attacks
landing a onetwo
which doubles up suddenly his bunged hinging
victim against the
giving ropes amid
screams of deeply bulging thousands

i too omit one kelly

in response to howjedooze the candidate's new silk
lid bounds gently from his baldness
a smile masturbates softly in the vacant
lot of his physiognomy
his scientifically pressed trousers ejaculate spats

a strinkingly succulent getup

but
we knew a muffhunter and he said to us Kid.
daze nutn like it.





one(Floatingly)arrive

(silent)one by(alive)
from(into disappear

and perfectly)nowhere
vivid anonymous
mythical guests of Is

unslowly more who(and
here who there who)descend
-ing(mercifully)touch
deathful earth's any which

Weavingly now one by
wonder(on twilght)they
come until(over dull

all nouns)begins a whole
verbal adventure to

illimitably Grow







as any(men's hells having wrestled with)
man drops into his own paradise
thankfully
           whole and the green whereless truth
of an eternal now welcomes each was
of whom among not numerable ams

(leaving a perfectly distinct unhe;
a ticking phantom by prodigious tim's
mere brain contrived:a spook of stop and go)
may i achieve another steepest thing--

how more than sleep illimitably my
--being so very born no bird can sing
as easily creation up all sky

(really unreal world,will you perhaps do
the breathing for me while i am away?)






when you are silent,shining host by guest
a snowingly enfolding glory is

all angry common things to disappear
causing through mystery miracle peace:

or(if begin the colours of your voice)
from some complete existence of to dream
into complete some dream of to exist
a stranger who is i awakening am.

Living no single thing dares partly seem
one atomy once,and every cannot stir
imagining;while you are motionless--

whose moving is more april than the year
(iff all her most first little flowers rise

out of tremendous darkness into air)






love is a spring at which
crazy they drink who've climbed
steeper than hopes are fears
only not ever named
mountains more if than each
known allness disappears

lovers are mindless they
higher than fears are hopes
lovers are those who kneel
lovers are these whose lips
smash unimagined sky
deeper than heaven is hell







what over and which under
burst lurch things phantoms curl
(mouth seekingslt lips wander
a finding whom of girl)

dolls clutching their dolls wallow
toys playing with toys
(than are all unworlds hollow
silence has deeper eyes

purest than fear's obscener
brightest than hate's more black
keenest than dying's keener
each will kissed breast awake)

slow tottering visions bigly
come crashing into go
(all than were nevers ugly
beautiful most is now)

                                 




when god decided to invent
everything ho took one
breath bigger than a circustent
and everything began

when man determined to destroy
himself he picked the was
of shall and finding only why
smashed it into because

                           




old mr ly
fresh from a fu
ruddy as a sun
with blue tru two

man
neral
rise
eyes

"this world's made 'bout
right it's the people that
abuses it you can git
anything you like out

of it if
you gut a mind
to there's something
for everybody it's a"

old mr lyman
ruddy as a sunrise
fresh with blue come
true from

a funeral
eyes
"big
thing"

                            




rain or hail
sam done
the best he kin
till they digged his hole

:sam was a man

stout as a bridge
rugged as a bear
slickern a weazel
how be you

(sun or snow)

gone into whaat
like all them kings
you read about
and on him sings

a whippoorwill;

heart was big
as the world aint square
with room for the devil
and his angels too

yes,sir

what may be better
or what may be worse
and what may be clover
clover clover

(nobody'll know)

sam was a man
grinned his grin
done his chores
laid him down.

Sleep well

   




let it go--the
smashed word broken
open vow or
the oath cracked length
wise--let it go it
was sworn to
             go

let them go--the
truthful liars and
the false fair friends
and the boths and
neithers--you must let them go they
were born
          to go

let all go--the
big small middling
tall bigger really
the biggest and all
things--let all go
dear
     so comes love

                               



Hello is what a mirror says
it is a maid who says Who
and(hearing not a which)replies
in haste I must be you

no sunbeam ever lies

Bang is the meaning of a gun
it is a man means No
and(seeing something yes)will grin
with pain You so&so;
true wars are never won








i've come to ask you if there isn't a
new moon outside your window saying if

that's all,just if"
                    "that's all there is to say"

(and she looked)"especially in winter"(like a leaf
opening)
        as we stood,one(truthed
by wisping tinily the silverest

alive silentness god ever breathed

upon beginning)
              "beautinful o most
beautiful" her,my life worships and
(night)
       then "everything beautiful can grow"

my,her life marvels "here'll be a canoe

and a whole world and then a single hair
again" marvels "and liars kill their kind

but" her,my "love creates love only" our





                                   
open green those
(dear)
worlds of than great
more eyes,and what
were summer's beside their
glories

downward if they'll
or
goldenly float
so(dreaming out
of dreams among)no year
will fail

this than,a least
dare
of snow less quite
is nothing but
herself,and than this(mere
most)breast

spring's million(who
are
and do not wait)
buds imitate
upward each first flower
of two

                              




except in you
honour,
my loveliest,
nothing
may move may rest
--you bring

(out of dark the
earth)a
procession of
wonders
huger than prove
our fears

were hopes:the moon
open
for you and close
will shy
wings of because;
each why

of star(afloat
on not
quite less than all
of time)
gives you skilful
his flame

so is your heart
alert,
of languages
there's none
but well she knows;
and can

perfectly speak
(snowflake
and rainbow mind
and soul
november
and april)

who younger than
begin
are,the worlds move
in your
(and rest,my love)
honour

                                    




true lovers in each happening of their hearts
live longer than all which and ever who;
despite what fear denies,what hope asserts,
what falsest both disprove by proving true

(all doubts,all certainties,as villians strive
and heroes through the mere mind's poor pretend
--grim comics of duration:only love
immortally occurs beyons the mind)

such a forever is love's any now
and her each here is such an everywhere,
even more true would truest lovers grow
if out of midnight dropped more suns than are

(yes;and if time should ask into his was
all shall,their eyes would never miss a yes)







we love each other very dearly
                             ,more
than raindrops need sunbeams or snowflakes make
possible mayflowers:

                    quite eyes of air
not with twilight's first thrushes may awake
more secretly than our(if disappear
should some world)selves

                         .No doing shall undo
(nor madness not mere death nor both who is
la guerre)your me or simplify my you
,darling

         sweet this creative never known
complexity was born before the moon
before God wished Himself into a rose

and even(
         we'll adventure the into
most immemorial of whens
                        )before

each heartbeat which i am alive to kiss







darling!because my blood can sing
and dance(and does with each your least
you any most very amazing now
or here)let pitiless fear play host
to every isn't that's under the spring
--but if a look should april me,
down isn't's own isn't go ghostly they

doubting can turn men's see to stare
their faith to how their joy to why
their stride and breathing to limp and prove
--but if a look should april me,
some thousand million hundred more
bright worlds than merely by doubting have
darkly themselves unmade makes love

armies(than hat itself and no
meanness unsmaller)armies can
immensly meet for centuries
and(except nothing)nothing's won
--but if a look should april me
for half a when, whatever is less
alive than never begins to yes

but if a look should april me
(though such as perfect hope can feel
only despair completely strikes
forests of mind, mountains of soul)
quite at the hugest which of his who
death is killed dead.  Hills jump with brooks:
trees tumble out of twigs and sticks;

                             




how

tinily
of

squir(two be
tween sto
nes)ming a gr

eenes
t you b
ecome

s whi
(mysterious
ly)te

one
t

hou

          




might these be thrushes climbing through almost(do they

beautifully wandering in merciful
miracles wonderingly celebrate day
and welcome earth's arrival with a soul)

sunlight?yes
            (always we have heard them sing
the dark alive but)
                    look:begins to grow
more than all real, all imagining;

and we who are we?surely not i not you
behold nor any breathing creature this?
nothing except the impossible shall occur

--see!now himself uplifts of stars the star
(sing!every joy)--wholly now disappear
night's not eternal terrors like a guess.

Life's life and strikes my your our blossoming sphere

                                   



if(among
silent skies
bluer than believing)a
little gay
earth opening
is all the flowers of his eyes
:april's they

this if now
or this(young
trembling any) into flame
twig or limb
explodes and o
each living ablaze greenly thing
;may has come

love(by yes
every new
bird no bigger than to sing)
leaf is wing
and tree is voice
more leastfully than i am you
,we are spring







these(whom;pretends

blue nothing)
are
built of soon carved
of to born of
be

One

:petals
him starrily her
and around
ing swim
snowing

ly upward with Joy,

no
where(no)when
may breathe
so sky so

.wish







i think you like"

a strawberry
bang this
blueeyed world(on
which are wintry

handlebars

glued)updives pursued
by its wigglesome whisperful
body and
almost

isn't(grabbed into skies of

grin)"my
flowers"(the humble
man than sunlight
older with ships than

dreams more hands are

offering jonquils)down again
who but zooms
through
one perfectly beautiful bow

"my home ionian isles






open your heart:
i'll give you a treasure
of tiniest world
a piece of forever with

summitless younger than
angels are mounains
rivery forests
towerful towns(queen

poet king float
sprout heroes of moonstar
flutter to and
swim blossoms of person)through

musical shadows while hunted
by daemons
seethe luminous
leopards(on wingfeet of thingfear)

come ships go
snowily sailing
perfect silence.
Absolute ocean






until and i heard
a certain a bird
 i dreamed i could sing
but like nothing
                 are the joys
of his voice

until and who came
with a song like a dream
of a bird with a song
like not anything
                  under skies
over grass

until and until
into flame i can feel
how the earth must fly
is a truth is a cry
                    of a whole
of a soul

until i awoke
for the beautiful sake
of a grave gay brave
bright cry of alive
                    with a trill
like until

                               




so in't small one littlest why,
it into if shall climb all the
blue heaven green earth neither sea
here's more than room for three of me

and only while your sweet eyes close
have disappeared a million whys;
but opening if are those eyes
every because is murdered twice






trees
      were in(give
give)bud when to me
you
made for by love
love said did
o no yes

earth was in
            (live
live)spring
with all beautiful
things when to
me
you gave gave darling

birds are
          in(trees are in)
song when to me you
leap and i'm born we
're sunlight of
oneness







which is the very
(in sad this havingest
world)most merry
most fair most rare
the livingest givingest
girl on this whirlingest
earth?
      why you're
by far the darlingest

who(on this busily
nowhere rollingest
it)'s the dizzily
he most him
--the climbingly fallingest
fool in this trickiest
if?
   why i'm
by much the luckiest

waht of the wonder
(beingest growingest)
over all under
all hate all fear
--all perfectly dyingest
my and foreverless
thy?
    why our
is love and neverless





she being Brand

-new;and you
know consequently a
little stiff i was
careful of her and(having

thoroughly oiled the universal
joint tested my gas felt of
her radiator made sure her springs were O.

K.)i went right to it flooded-the-carburetor cranked her

up,slipped the
clutch(and then somehow got into reverse she
kicked what
the hell)next
minute i was back in neutral tried and

again slo-wly;bare,ly nudg.  ing(my

lev-er Right-
oh and her gears being in
A 1 shape passed
from low through
second-in-to-high like
greasedlightning)just as we turned the corner of Divinity

avenue i touched the accelerator and give

her the juice,good

                  (it

was the first ride and believe i we was
happy to see how nice she acted right up to
the last minute coming back down by the Public
Gardens i slammed on

the
internalexpanding
&
externalcontracting
brakes Bothatonce and

brought allofher tremB
-ling
to a:dead.

stand-
;Still)

           




"sweet spring is your
time is my time is our
time for springtime is lovetime
and viva sweet love"

(all the merry little birds are
flying in the floating in the
very spirits singing in
are winging in the blossoming)

lovers go and lovers come
awandering awondering
but any two are perfectly
alone there's nobody else alive

(such a sky and such a sun
i never knew and neither did you
and everybody never breathed
quite so many kinds of yes)

not a tree can count his leaves
each herself by opening
but shining who by thousands mean
only one amazing thing

(secretly adoring shyly
tiny winging darting floating
merry in the blossoming
always joyful selves are singing)

"sweet spring is your
time is my time is our
time for springtime is lovetime
and viva sweet love"
                             





life is more true than reason will deceive
(more secret or than madness did reveal)
deeper is life than lose: higher than have
--but beauty is more each than living's all

multiplied with infinity sans if the mightiest meditation of mankind
cancelled are by one merely opening her leaf
(beyond whose nearness there is no beyond)

or does some littler bird than eyes can learn
look up to silence and completely sing?
futures are obsolete;pasts are unborn
(here less than nothing's more than everything)

death,as men call him,ends what they call men
--but beauty is more now than dying's when






if everything happens that can't be done
(and everythings righter
than books
could plan)
the stupidest teacher will almost guess
(with a run
skip
around we go yes)
there's nothing as something as one

one hasn't a why or because or although
(and buds know better
than books
don't grow)
one's anything old being anything new
(with a what
which
around we come who)
one's everyanything so

so world is a leaf so tree is a bow
(and birds sing sweeter
than books
tell how)
so here is a way so your is a my
(with a down
up
around again fly)
forever was never till now

now i love you and you love me
(and books are shuter
than books
can be)
and deep in the high that does nothing but fall
(with a shout
each
around we come all)
there's somebody calling who's we

we're anything brighter thaneven the sun
(we're everything greater
than books
might mean)
we're everyanything more than believe
(with a spin
leap
alive we're alive)
we're wonderful one times one






if i love You
(thickness means
worlds inhabited by roamingly
stern bright faeries

if you love
me) distance is mind carefully
luminous with innumerable gnomes
Of complete dream

if we love each (shyly)
other, what clouds do or Silently
Flowers resembles beauty
less than our breathing





i love you much(most beautiful darling)

more than anyone on the earth and i
like you better than everything in the sky

-sunlight and singing welcome your coming

although winter may be everywhere
with such a silence and such a darkness
noone can quite begin to guess

(except my life)the true time of year-

and if what calls itself a world should have
the luck to hear such singing(or glimpse such
sunlight as will leap higher than high
through gayer than gayest someone's heart at your each

nearness)everyone certainly would(my
most beautiful darling)believe in nothing but love





Tumbling-hair
              picker of buttercups
                                   violets
dandelions
And the big bullying daisies
                             through the field wonderful
with eyes a little sorry
Another comes
              also picking flowers