Parading

A human does throw off   bonds if  she can, if  she tries, if  it’s possible,

Thou art come at length

‘To labour and not to seek reward,’ he prays,

O, the weakness of any mouth

Sometimes I play a game in which my primitive craft fires

Some poems

But he is free to turn : this is the speaking tree,

which is the rhythmic erection of essence.

When I tell you the day is a poem

Get back to me by facsimile or dream of climbing a night ladder