Do you think of me
as I think
The sun has come.
The mist has gone.
We see in the distance...
our long way home.
I was always yours to have.
I thought it would last my time—
The sense that, beyond the town,
There would always be fields and f
Where the village louts could clim
Such trees as were not cut down;
There are similarities
I notice: that the hills
which the eyes make flat as a wall
together, open as I move
to let me through; become
The furies are at home
in the mirror; it is their address
Even the clearest water,
if deep enough can drown.
Never think to surprise them.
To step over the low wall that div
Road from concrete walk above the
Brings sharply back something know
The miniature gaiety of seasides.
Everything crowds under the low ho
you won’t see them often
for wherever the crowd is
those odd ones, not
The apes yawn and adore their flea
The parrots shriek as if they were
Like cheap tarts to attract the st
Fatigued with indolence, tiger and
Lie still as the sun. The boa-con
When I think about myself,
I almost laugh myself to death,
My life has been one great big jok
A dance that’s walked
A song that’s spoke,
Abstraction is an old story with t
Granted no one but a humanist much
Then there is this wildness whereo
It should be of the pleasure of a
No tears in the writer, no tears i
Doubt thou the stars are fire,
Doubt that the sun doth move,
Doubt truth to be a liar,
But never doubt I love.
The highway is full of big cars
going nowhere fast
And folks is smoking anything that
Some people wrap their lies around
And you sit wondering
I have wished you something
None of the others would:
Not the usual stuff
About being beautiful,
The pig, if I am not mistaken;
Supplies us sausage, ham, and baco
Let others say his heart is big—
I call it stupid of the pig.
Up, black, striped and demasked li
At a funeral mass, the skunk’s tai
Paraded the skunk. Night after ni
I expected her like a visitor.
The refrigerator whinnied into sil
You have no enemies, you say?
Alas! my friend, the boast is poor
He who has mingled in the fray
Of duty, that the brave endure,
Must have made foes! If you have
When I am sad and weary
When I think all hope has gone
When I walk along High Holborn
I think of you with nothing on
The dog loved its churlish life,
Scraps, thefts. Itsdeclined blood
An anarchy of mindless pride.
Nobody’s pet, but good enough
To double with a bitch as poor.
Understand, I am always trying to
what the soul is,
and where hidden,
and what shape
and so, last week,
A flea and a fly in a flue
Were imprisoned, so what could the
Said the fly, “let us flee!”
“Let us fly!” said the flea.
So they flew through a flaw in the
Look, stranger, on this island now
The leaping light for your delight
Stand stable here
And silent be,
That through the channels of the e
Long, long time ago, there was an
Alone in a mountain cabin a white-
He tried to adopt a dog
But instead he got a hog
For he was told to get a dog he ne
My work is loving the world.
Here the sunflowers, there the hum
equal seekers of sweetness.
Here the quickening yeast; there t
Here the clam deep in the speckled
I know someone who kisses the way
a flower opens, but more rapidly.
Flowers are sweet. They have
short, beatific lives. They offer
much pleasure. There is
I was a bum in San Francisco but
to go to a symphony concert along
and the music was good but somethi
audience was not
and something about the orchestra
Come let us mock at the great
That had such burdens on the mind
And toiled so hard and late
To leave some monument behind,
Nor thought of the levelling wind.
in the fields
I lay down in the darkness
to think about death,
but instead I fell asleep,
Go to Tibet.
Ride a camel.
Read the Bible.
Dye your shoes blue.
Grow a Beard.
A million million spermatozoa
All of them alive;
Out of their cataclysm but one poo
Dare hope to survive.
And among that billion minus one
Style is the answer to everything.
A fresh way to approach a dull or
To do a dull thing with style is p
To do a dangerous thing with style
Bullfighting can be an art
if you’re going to try, go all the
otherwise, don’t even start.
if you’re going to try, go all the
With nothing to brag about but the
Tearing boar-flesh and swilling al
A fermenting of huge-chested bragg
Got nowhere by sitting still
To hear some timorous poet enlarge
Gentle almond eyes
Thick silky hair lustrous sheen
Lovely flawless skin
Yet fire and warmth in her eyes
On the grass when I arrive,
Filling the stillness with life,
But ready to scare off
At the very first wrong move.
In the ivy when I leave.