woensdag 10 februari 2016

page 265

Go tramping! she said, on the high road & so on, being a Jew or whatever, on the road to the here & now,
elected to be a president of the here & now or the hooknosed screw, one phrase each date, & the latest we discussed,
telling L. to stop & consider the unread track, his race to the liquor shop, and mine, the drips on his forehead, unheard oceans on me,
and poor Miss Lunch, dead and burried,
and the evil didn't know how it came, not from my silly room, oh, Miss Bottom please, Your natives
smell indeed & Yet native to this room
have that ordinary smell of what people are and the ugliness repulsive of its mass, streets lined with trees
and houses and dreams. Didn't we discuss how nice & ordinary & how beautiful it may have been, your
Poetry, I suppose, and having lunch at Redhill.

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