into the strenuous
briefness
Life:
handorgans and April
darkness, friends
i charge laughing.
Into the hair-thin
tints
of yellow dawn,
into the women-coloured
twilight
i smilingly glide. I
into the big vermilion
departure
swim, sayingly;
(Do you think?) the
i do, world
is probably made
of roses & hello:
(of solongs and, ashes)
O sweet spontaneous
earth how often have
the doting
fingers of
prurient philosophies
pinched
and poked
thee
has the naughty thumb
of science prodded
thy
beauty how
often have religions
taken
thee upon their scraggy
knees squeezing and
buffeting thee that
thou mightest conceive
gods
but
true
to the incomparable
couch of death thy
rhythmic
lover
thou answerest
them only with
spring
but the other
day i was passing a
certain
gate
rain
fell
as it will
in spring
ropes
of silver gliding from
sunny
thunder into freshness
as if god’s flowers
were
pulling upon bells of
gold
i looked
up
and
thought to myself
death
and will You with
elaborate fingers
possibly touch
the pink hollyhock
existence whose
pansy eyes look from
morning till
night into the street
unchangingly
the always
old lady sitting in her
gentle window like
a reminiscence
partaken
softly
at whose gate smile
always the chosen
flowers of reminding
in Just-
spring
when the world is mud-
luscious the little
lame baloonman
whistles
far and wee
and eddyandbill come
running from marbles
and
piracies and it’s
spring
when the world is
puddle-wonderful
the queer
old baloonman whistles
far
and wee
and bettyandisbel come
dancing
from hop-scotch and
jump-rope and
it’s
spring
and
the
goat-footed
baloonMan
whistles
far
and
wee
spring omnipotent
goddess Thou
dost stuff parks
with overgrown pimply
chevaliers and
gumchewing giggly
damosels Thou dost
persuade to serenade
his lady the musical
tom-cat
Thou dost inveigle
into crossing sidewalks
the
unwary june-bug and the
frivolous
angleworm
Thou dost hang canary
birds in parlour windows
Spring slattern of
seasons
you have soggy legs
and a muddy petticoat
drowsy
is your hair your
eyes are sticky with
dream and you have a
sloppy body from
being brought to bed of
crocuses
when you sing in your
whisky voice
the grass rises on the
head of the earth
and all the trees are
put on edge
spring
of the excellent jostle
of
thy hips
and the superior
slobber of your breasts
i
am so very fond that my
soul inside of me
hollers
for thou comest
and your hands are the
snow and thy
fingers are the rain
and your
feet O your feet
freakish
feet feet incorrigible
ragging the world