From the Nativity
which I have already celebrated
the Babe in its Mother’s arms
the Wise Men in their stolen
splendor

a trouble
archaically fettered
to produce
E Pluribus Unum an
island

In Brueghel’s great picture, The
the dancers go round, they go roun
around, the squeal and the blare a
tweedle of bagpipes, a bugle and f
tipping their bellies (round as th

The living quality of
the man’s mind
stands out
and its covert assertions
for art, art, art!

Old age is
a flight of small
cheeping birds
skimming
bare trees

Upon the table in their bowl
in violent disarray
of yellow sprays, green spikes
of leaves, red pointed petals
and curled heads of blue

If you had come away with me
into another state
we had been quiet together.
But there the sun coming up
out of the nothing beyond the lake

They call me and I go.
It is a frozen road
past midnight, a dust
of snow caught
in the rigid wheeltracks.

Of asphodel, that greeny flower,
like a buttercup
upon its branching stem–
save that it’s green and wooden–
I come, my sweet,

Fools have big wombs. For the res
For what it’s worth: Jacob Lousli
Talk as you will, say: “No woman
'—'—'—'—'—'—
In Holland at daybreak, of a fine