("The greens of the Ganges...")

Especially his long & glowing tail

by all them was admired, and visitors.

They whistled: This is it!

Golden, whilst your frozen daiquiris

whir at midnight, gleams on you his fur

& silky & black.

Mission accomplished, pal.

My molten yellow & moonless bag,

drained, hangs at rest.

Collect in the cold depths barracuda. Ay,

in Sealdah Station some possessionless

hundreds exist & die.

The Chinese communes hum. Two daiquiris

withdrew into a corner of the gorgeous room

and one told the other a lie.

m

To William Meredith

The high ones die, die. They die. You look up and who's there?

-Easy, easy, Mr. Bones. I is on your side.

I smell your grief.

-I sent my grief away. I cannot care

forever. With them all again & again I died

and cried, and I have to live.

-Now there you exaggerate, Sah. We hafta die.

That is our 'pointed task. Love & die.

-Yes; that makes sense.

But what makes sense between, then? What if I

roiling & babbling & braining, brood on why and

just sat on the fence?

-I doubts you did or do. De choice is lost.

-It's fool's gold. But I go in for that.

The boy & the bear

looked at each other. Man all is tossed

& lost with groin-wounds by the grand bulls, cat.

William Faulkner's where?

(Frost being still around.)

w

Spellbound held subtle Henry all his four

hearers in the racket ofthe market

with ancient signs, infamous characters,

new rhythms. On the steps he was belov'd,

hours a day, by all his four, or more,

depending. And they paid him.

It was not, so, like no one listening

but critics famed & Henry's pals or other

writers at all

chiefly in another country. No.

He by the heart & brains & tail, because

of their love for it, had them.

Junk he said to all them open-mouth'd.

Weather wöuld govern. When the monsoon spread

its floods, few came, two.

Came a day when none, though he began

in his accustomed way on the filthy steps

in a crash of waters, came.