Who owns those scrawny little feet… Who owns this bristly scorched—loo… Who owns these still—working lungs… Who owns this utility coat of musc… Who owns these unspeakable guts?…

The flame—red moon, the harvest mo… Rolls along the hills, gently boun… A vast balloon, Till it takes off, and sinks upwar… To lie on the bottom of the sky, l…

I sit in the top of the wood, my e… Inaction, no falsifying dream Between my hooked head and hooked… Or in sleep rehearse perfect kills… The convenience of the high trees!

Once upon a time there was a perso… He was walking along He met the full burning moon Rolling slowly twoards him Crushing the stones and houses by…

The swallow of summer, she toils a… A blue—dark knot of glittering vol… A whiplash swimmer, a fish of the… But the serpent of cars that crawl… In shimmering exhaust

Against the rubber tongues of cows… Thistles spike the summer air And crackle open under a blue—blac… Every one a revengeful burst Of resurrection, a grasphed fistfu…

I imagine this midnight moment’s f… Something else is alive Beside the clock’s loneliness And this blank page where my finge… Through the window I see no star:

Stirs its ashes and embers, its bu… An eye powdered over, half melted… Ponders Ideas that collapse At the first touch of attention

The mahogany table-top you smashed Had been the broad plank top Of my mother’s heirloom sideboard— Mapped with the scars of my whole… That came under the hammer.