A freaking ankle crabbed his blissful trips, This whiskey tastes like California But is Kentucky, Like Berkeley where he truly worked at it But nothing broke all night—no fires—one dawn, Crowding his luck, Flowed
It will seem strange, no more this range on range Of opening hopes and happenings. Strange to be One’s name no longer. Not caught up, not free. Strange, not to wish one’s wishes onward.
The surly cop looked out at me in sleep Insect-like. Guess, who was the insect. I’d asked him in my robe & hospital gown in the elevator politely Why someone saw so many police
Bards freezing, naked, up to the neck in water, Wholly in dark, time limited, different from Initiations now: The class in writing, clothed & dry & light, Unlimited time, till Poetry takes some, Nobody
‘Oyez, oyez!’ The Man Who Did Not Deliver Is before you for his deliverance, my lords. He stands, as charged For This by banks, That cops, by lawyers, by Publishingers for Them. I doubt
And where, friend Quo, lay you hiding Across malignant half my years or so? One evil faery It was workt night, with amoroso pleasing Menace, the panes shake Where Lie-by-the-fire is waiting for his
Our wounds to time, from all the other times, Sea-times slow, the times of galaxies Fleeing, the dwarfs’ dead times, Lessen so little that if here in his crude rimes Henry them mentions, do
Noises from underground made gibber some Others collected & dug henry up Saying ‘You are a sight.’ Chilly, he muttered for a double rum Waving the mikes away, putting a stop To rumors, pushing
Henry in Ireland to Bill underground: Rest well, who worked so hard, who made a good sound Constantly, for so many years: Your high-jinks delighted the continents & our ears: You had so many
The sunburnt terraces which swans make home With water purling, Macchu Pichu died Like Delphi long ago— A message to Justinian closing it out, The thousand years’ authority, although Tho’ never found exactly wrong
How this woman came by the courage, how she got The courage, Henry bemused himself in a frantic hot Night of the eight of July, Where it came from, did once the Lord frown
I heard, could be, a Hey there from the wing, And I went on: Miss Bessie soundin good That one, that night of all, I feelin fari myself, taxes & things Seem to be
Ill lay he long, upon this last return, Unvisited. The doctors put everything in the hospital Into reluctant Henry And the nurses took it out & put it back, Smiling like fiends, with their
Henry hates the world. What the world to Henry Did will not bear thought. Feeling no pain, Henry stabbed his arm and wrote a letter Explaining how bad it had been In this world.
Spellbound held subtle Henry all his four Hearers in the racket of the market With ancient signs, infamous characters, New rythms. On the steps he was beloved, Hours a day, by all his four,
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