sleeps with death upon her mouth having a song in her eyes
the hours descend,

putting on stars.

in the street of the sky night walks scattering poems

(and what have you to say,

wind wind wind-did you love somebody

and have you the petal of somewhere in your heart
pinched from dumb summer?

O crazy daddy
of death dance cruelly for us and start

the last leaf whirling in the final brain

of air!) Let us as we have seen see

doom's integration . . . a wind has blown the rain.

away and the leaves and the sky and the trees stand:

the trees stand. The trees,

suddenly wait against the moon's face.

THIS IS THE GARDEN

this is the garden: colors come and go,
frail azures fluttering from night's outer wing,
strong silent greens serenély lingering,
absolute lights like baths of golden snow.
This is the garden: purséd 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.

POEM, OR BEAUTY HURTS MR. VINAL

take it from me kiddo

believe me

my country, 'tis of

you, land of the Cluett

Shirt Boston Garter and Spearmint

Girl With The Wrigley Eyes (of you

land of the Arrow Ide

and Earl &

Wilson

Collars) of you i

sing: land of Abraham Lincoln and Lydia E. Pinkham, land above all of Just Add Hot Water And Serve

from every B.V.D.

let freedom ring

amen. i do however protest, anent the un -spontaneous and otherwise scented merde which greets one (Everywhere Why) as divine poesy per that and this radically defunct periodical. i would

suggest that certain ideas gestures rhymes, like Gillette Razor Blades

having been used and reused

to the mystical moment of dullness, emphatically are Not To Be Resharpened. (Case in point

if we are to believe these gently O sweetly. melancholy trillers amid the thrillers

these crepuscular violinists among my and your skyscrapers-Helen & Cleopatra were Just Too Lovely, The Snail's On The Thorn enter Morn and God's In His andsoforth