gracies barcelonas. o what is coming.

i sit alone or in Pennsylvania
the blind sleep and do miracles
two little yellow butterflies
choice if i grow
not money, armors, dress, eating, erudition
but as i stood,
dream'd forth a long absence
was joined by the beggar

what waits shall be good
and rather-
if i lose my breath
paint no head without its friend before you
holding a little charity
for i hear from above o pennant of war and peace
a little sustenance, a hut and a garden, a little innocent child by either hand,
the future will be measured
won day i shall answer to everything

then everyone will hear a weird creeping thing more or less as follows--
(other to a minde diseas'd)

i was
if possible I was floating

i told. i was in hand again
i saw their faces
i realized i had risen

and for the Muse, i say bring yet help
mild aunt Liza is as much as i sit writing here,
sick and grown old
from cache or cave beyond the flow of beauty
and round her stares agape
the smoke of war:
the other asks if we cannot escape our likes and mislikes
exiles or ambu-

now the chorus i hear:
one form of the world is the sign for a body.
and title of that art
led us traverse into the moon not absolutely

in the lower world,
suddenly there came a drought

year of the trunk
where the trees,
to gather apples in secret,
have laid on their knees
in the starlight and wept

how easie it is to performe what you can
mutatis mutandis
simply killing, soaring
a curious little urge to move forward
and begge for belles to ring

the top of my dismay:
one poor soul lay quite still
his darling foot
is on all the people made of wood and haulers of it

grey hairs are on him
some to him the look of a bomb

it is obvious that we cried aloud at him
witty as calling him by the name of space?

tall creature,
with the sort of idea
leaves bones and ayleean plants
some way away
instead of smoke
waved his hand

what favors i did find
as he pointed his travels
to an illegitimate leap
mastered much of nothing

a bad attack of dizziness
each item can be arranged in a series.
it is impossible to represent this simple matter
in any language
it is safe
i have tried it

that was the same question
that was the precarious calm
amid lanes and country
he gave it to be, this, that:
to howl,
crawl of charity and
which, strange to me,
head no better able to rattle

up to the hunter's hut
the vine over the notebook
i understood all the lights
the smell of the bags
crystalline, open, beyond the power to speak
a kind of silence one keeps for a great noise
yet many fell back again,
just as the sun came to the sanctuary,
collaborating in a turmoil

youknow that, insofarforth as, all up to do especially, we recognise that:
the endorsement of all
countless years drawing themselves onward and outward,
nothing collapses

but low
low he rises about us
one by one
and for a time tugs gently at light

and me: the travelling inkhorn
came nearly against the ground
i must admit-- hung between sea and sky
certain things may be possible...
imperial magnificence of sound, and the beam, and one thing clear:
a proposition determines a logical form.
occur to you now?
the possibility of such a night?

this is a godsend
are you a toxis.

and in a curious little thing to do
proof in logic must be something in common
if it did exist
for maybe it would have to go
by the window wide

since burst and dark,
our efforts diminished,
the conditions of a dusty yellow color
came alltoolyrical an expression
i can sneeze tomorrow
would that be he was
gracious at our feet

let us imagine there were against me
infinitely many praises
of my neglect
and merry mind you,
able to get this matter calmly
animal enjoyment
twicetook me for freedom

allself, an abstract of the sun
these operations i call the cozenage of lyfe

an attack of maggots
bend the hills where i used to go
with peals of laughter, swinging the entire world

stranger things we might expect
suppose that i had come an ugly cropper
or the birds of the bed, when the clock struck quarter
who there stands weeping
little, bonny little
would you bear me round?

lice nittle clinkers,
two twilling bugs and the beam
Funny spot to have been
by the heirs of age!
the other world so near,
that little bungalow
evening was there,
and here it was I did my proper dimensions

these tall spikes
too terrible for the time
make use of that perilous stuffe
he showed it to a few
be it hatch, be it hatch, be it thot & done

psychology is no other despair
each day a new gash
and years perhaps
twisted my head and neck
shifting to the point where
mine is no longer
all that moves

moral: if you listen
there are martian joys
perhaps like variyis regular others
emerge at halfclock veniences
so too death lookes full

isnt that that that what i should
raise aloft
still the future is no time for
breakfast or baffled feuds

resting the grass and warbling birds
it was possible
then it was stopped
Liza says time passes blood upon
dreams drames or popular ends

nothing of the new world:
the wide-breath'd games
these stormy gusts and winds with me,
alas a dot in his mind
florida as it beam'd on you gray-brown bird

pleas'd with the addition of his head
but i am must not
thy song expands my blood?

it glitter'd in the garden
from the north, and the dull days also
not in those wing'd purposes
the sun on the gunwale

we came and went
like before,
the shepherd stands aside to let
a record needle bend
the sound of the first circle
i sleep a little faster
the blood drains my reverie

we wish it darke,
i fill a pit

nor i alone, but that,
new york
not to make it bad for us...
the ground
points with what one might lift

i might have told the trooth,
yet again,
too late, too late,
two falsehoods, two trappings,
to be interpreted as an effect of
a thousand little things
i would identify by the storm