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

He loved her and she loved him
His kisses sucked out her whole pa
He had no other appetite
She bit him she gnawed him she suc
She wanted him complete inside her

The moon not o be named
Going over, clear of all poetry,
The exhauster of the poetical
Faculties of our race, surrenderin
Of her fourth day rights, ignores

I saw my world again through your
As I would see it again through y
Through your eyes it was foreign.
Plain hedge hawthorns were peculia
A mystery of peculiar lore and doi

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

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

Millionly-whored, without womb,
Her heart already rubbish,
Watching the garret death come,
This thirty year old miss
Walked in park pastoral

Freezing dusk is closing
Like a slow trap of steel
On trees and roads and hills and a
That can no longer feel.
But the carp is in its depth

Between Westminster and sunstruck
The desert has entered the flea’s
Like shut—eyed half—submerged Nil
The buildings tremble with breath.
The mirage of river is so real

The clock says “When will it be m
The sun says “Noon hurt me.”
The river cries with its mouthful
And the sea moves every way withou
Out of my ear grew a reed