[Suite]

один из стихов человека которого я считаю богом и культом двадцатого века для самого себя!!!


He follows a woman into the firmament
The solids, sonnets
elaborate requisitions for the god-soul

ah my bright jewelled town
a Widow's band
roping sailors & hill-folk together
congeal on this flat spire
to partake of mineral jets
"he's sick" he should be sleeping
peaceful by air, a movie of dead nights
in a wound, suffer to give out
your red-blue lighter's flame
w/ calm precision
your certainty lives in a match
or a mind
The huts are free evening cliff-dwellers
The trees, losing their variance, die sadly
w/ grandeur
O soft redness & palest blue
like a babie's window
This is the hour you rule
& invite Ventures, quests,
trips to the electric valley down