It was the fantastic drowse and drum hum of lum mum afternoon nathin' to do...
in redbrick of drowsy lazy afternoons with everybody at work in offices in the air you feel the impending rush of their commuter frenzy
the people--the alley full of trucks and cars of businesses nearabouts and nobody knew or far from cared who I was all my life three thousand five hundred miles from birth-O opened up and at last belonged to me in Great America.
the keen little neons and also yellow bulblights of impossible-to-believe flops with dark ruined shadows moving back of torn yellow shades like a degenerate China with no money
out there always finding his solace his meaning in the fellaheen street and not in abstract morality
it's all a sea, I swim out of it in afternoons of sun hot meditation in my jeans
Blue sky above with stars hanging high over old hotel roofs and blowers of hotels moaning out dusts of in-terior, the grime inside the word in mouths falling out tooth by tooth, the reading rooms tick tock bigclock with creak chair and slantboards and old faces looking up over rimless spectacles
and across rains they've come to the end of the land sadness end of the world gladness
miles away across verdurous fields of prune and juice joy
and I hear far off in the sense of coming night that engine calling our mountains.
with faces like undersea
I look up at blue sky of perfect lostpurity and feel the warp of wood of old America beneath me
Fence and Clouds: Thanks Lyudmila!