Budger of history Brake of time… Toy of universe Grandest of all… Do I hate the mischievous thunder… The bumpy club of One Million B.… Catapult Da Vinci tomahawk Coc…

I am watching them churn the last… They are waiting for me to die; They want to make buttons out of m… Where are my sisters and brothers? That tall monk there, loading my u…

a slow thoughtful spontaneous poem I am 32 years old and finally I look my age, if not… Is it a good face what’s no more a… It seems fatter. And my hair,

Uncomprising year’€”I see no mean… Though this abled self is here non… either in trade gold or grammaticn… I drop the wheelwright’€™s simple… Why weave the garland? Why ring t…

They deliver the edicts of God without delay And are exempt from apprehension from detention And with their God-given

I dreamed Ted Williams leaning at night against the Eiffel Tower, weeping… He was in uniform and his bat lay at his feet

What simple profundities What profound simplicities To sit down among the trees and breathe with them in murmur brool and breeze—

My hands did numb to beauty as they reached into Death and tig… O sovereign was my touch upon the tan-inks’s fragile page! Quickly, my eyes moved quickly,

I am a great American I am almost nationalistic about it… I love America like a madness! But I am afraid to return to Amer… I’m even afraid to go into the Am…

How inseparable you and the Ameri… there to see; you and America, lik… ground, are one the same; yet how… in the state of Oregon. . . dead e… like a snow polar loping the

I stand in the dark light in the d… street and look up at my window, I was born there. The lights are on; other people ar…

I reached heaven and it was syrupy… It was oppressively sweet. Croaking substances stuck to my kn… Of all substances St. Michael was… I grabbed him and pasted him on my…

O this political air so heavy with… and motors of a slow night, and no… but rain to walk—How it rings the… The umbrella’d congressmen; the ra… of big black cars, the shoulders o…

With a love a madness for Shelley Chatterton Rimbaud and the needy-yap of my youth has gone from ear to ear: I HATE OLD POETMEN!