Electric poets and climbing doctors [Full Poem] [Temp. 0.585]

field with fruit with strong and dark--not a chance,
    a grave, but how they were not personified?

     --

I love the nations of the wintry water
               Which was not those of them.

                       Towers are dead,
                   When it will come all day
     There are the faces of the force of pride;
         All thy prayer that loves have done to Master;
         The sun that tears the space of stone,
         The walls, and glittering frozen places,
         Whilst the falling brother's shade
         As the bells of the billows low.
         When the red-bones bring the straw
         On the soul that knew not thy lover,
         Whilst then to give and rest,
         And the white bells will rest,
         And in the shelter storm,
         Like unknown march falls,
         The spites of the shines
         Of the spirit of the heart,
     And flowers with wishes of the master poured;
     Looks like the bells to glide in the forger-bones.
     The crowd that grew of lightning when they burst
         Where are thy spirits tread about
         What are all but for the consecrate
         Of the trees when soon they seem to be strong?
     The shades of my city, still the world like a mother,
     The soul belongs the bones where the strain was blind,
     Making a corroboth of blood to right
     The chariot of the stranger so severe;
     And strove among the trees the silent day
     Some reign for heaven and children's dream
     Of all the freezing horses that would sound,
     And that they can show the dewy few,
     And the day is spectacilled
         And senseless sunshine lies.
     The clouds and anger whispering slow
         The most accountant pale.
     Churches of the rose of pride of the eye
     A wondrous chariot and an endless lip
     Is hopeless from the spotted sun;
     And the struggling breath of many a song,
         Where art mist thy servants still
         Beneath the stream so that is round.
     I were not like a dowry and call
         To gather thee as a wave,
         Still woods in space in the state,
         The stars we spoke and haunt thee between
     By that spot is winter to make of me at all
     And on the stone beyond the soul retire
     The storm my fellow catalove;
     And the divine in the stately thing
     A summer spectres not a sea,
     And still the water would never see
     The crown of many a glad thought stand
     How they was wishing praise at all
     A sight on me more deadling wine,
     There ever travellers at the stone,
     To spare the stone that dreaming lost.
     The lower that dreams the sole
     Of which is the heart of arms,--
     And the light on the window sounds he steal.
     But when he thou shalt start as from
         A power of the dead,
     And when man there might not go fly?

--
  All these words of perfume of sorrow warm


grown white flowers

A General Paranoia of applause
  Where the heart made the bars of Chinese Union God about

Grandmother take Fire Prophecy? What crime?
  Not to the Black Sike of Hydrum from Paranoia dead & Side & Highway

--at red breast

& the world is haunted

door blue star was the white shit

Door and the steambranches of spirit
                               The Mothers of Naomi, spice

but study the air a man for many a name

The Maid Street Schmolle Pole on my head

Window of Tangiers.
  Who'll we be an hour of all Chief, what does all the soul were not alive?
 And why the sound of the Doast Capitol?
                              Million nieces of old Spain

Sepulchre Long here conciliation

Double buckets of my hand and the whole champ of sport

white wings on the Wall Street & Homerzonist city

in the street

    TO Heaven and wasted up against the barbed and 
for the World Adamer Billy Martial Statehead and understanding

Electric poets and climbing doctors

died at my cock creaking the bridge, I said, and the signal

and window and the West packaged parked back

to burst them, we have come to me & could be thrust

State but so sleep

work the world we got wrong at a black moon.
      So he said they told me the rematch at 40 millight to the door

chariot of a stanched with performed.
  Oh or the White Machinery at the State
                          The Great Canyon of the Muse

Treasury portal belly

body and the police are fairgrounds a week or with fire

rolling the street thru shelf of the sky
 "Here the Savagonia Pete stand on the mountains"

all over the streets)
  I wrote the chariot so sweet

We have to those red babblings

A thousand sexual or the dreamer

More nameless in the morning

and bamboo belacrement

green wrinkled the flowers

Central eyes and I thought of your Newspaper

The French 1960s)

I wait at the street before the Sun
                                   and sing and didn't like

and the crowned window of the tall grass and bastards fall

roofs who didn't compress me

of an original Rockefeller dawn
  I was stronger than when I looked I was
                                         I walked into a wall
                                         The Great September
                               laughing in a balance

red clouds of water.
  The sword has been perilowed: