Song

 

Oh Gosh! my disembarked soul  is sad

a merriment of untouchable wayworthness

I tell you the gleaming cyclopean eye

is a mirrored aeolipile among

                         green hills

where everything struggles

                                      against the ought

of our desert

for the spring

of its quickness

remains fresh, the beggar's bush

                  stands radiant over the cove

the chap

fellow

her there

him there

the hero

engine

shadow

this whole great boat on wheels

the way these bricks are painted in the sun

by magpie hands

a ball can slide

in a bowl