`an' absolutely neared to see [Full Poem] [Temp. 0.693]

`an' absolutely neared to see.
  I want to walk alone to all the rest of the trumpets that were not as she said:
  there is something now, get me near to be done
  sun famous people, or the world a quarter because of them
  were not too many things again, and
  they never were all the failures
  of life, they are not pulling the
  bathroom or sitting there their setting cans of
  police--and I went home and
  we all wanted to fight to
  stand at barnacles at the window,
  the lady peeling the drunken dog barkers in the
  line.
  it was the only one, I said,
  my wife always and I am crying
  with some turn to see to be a long time without her
  unable to take the cannons
  of cancer, and at R. jugs and then the cocktail metal sky
  they were a lousy taste to stare
   and I don't like your man only yet a woman as hard as much as it elsewhen it likes
  about to kill you, it was in a homemade of in your head and belly
  in the street and she was gone in a world
  the other remained is as railed, are alive,
  and really see you again, and the flame is done
  not a few friends and your poems, the police sat
  and began left and take the day.
  and when you know what I see any near to the both
  and you have to be right between the streets of
  the walls, the walls are married the fall of color
  in a red stock, come out there
  without another friend.
    I never finally got to do is told you, but
  the profit in the animals would we eat the glass of
  your stories, I could see them for
  the radio,
  I start the bocker on your shoulder
  on you.--
  will you get the lady in a headline and you are
  critical son of a lady,
  that thing is interested in that
  world of pink enormous that must be such
  meaning,
  you loved him the strength and the long times we desire
  when you've got me a stepping under a pair
  and there is some time coming from
  this
  stubitto signally as
  the men sitting with their souls and
  interesting at the burrows of brown eyes
  and after reading their eyes with their feelings
  and the sea and sunshine humanity,
  a forty coast of starvation and some
  light place for the disease.
  much of quality and being younger
  in other main schools,
  I took the skinned stone outside.
  a man stops me from the farmer and
  one day they sing in the morning's
  sheet and breathless ones, I said, the sailors fall through
  rag again, this is the bed, like bathrobe
  with a silent street while screaming in there
  your body will be a madman
  and the mowers will never see.
  is a call of tears? I asked.
    I am a poet she asked.
    I think, I said, I said.
  and you're doing this comparison
  and there's a couple of wine,
  I have trouble at it and wait
  and I will think of my wife and
  his later to take her,
  and we fight to see the sweet stories
  of fire posters and lovers
  and the cracks up the walls with
  sun.
    I stop writing the barstool with the left walls
  the mailbox strapped the dog smelling
  and I'm sure he was in a thing
  and it was about it was the girl and all the world
  was slow dreaming about the world
  it is the one that makes me are
  strange.
    I walked off to my blue idiot, and then
  take a story,
  this way to show these binors?
  the wind does not know why goes on to
  light on the floors
  they are playing cents and
  drinking their bodies,
  and there were over being
  cancer,
  but sincerity without a few things a
  perfect return for a few ice Jack,
  and killing it was something to be
  a new bone,
  I am still the other morning day with eyelids and
  everything has nothing to do, they'd really want to give up
  up.
    there is this poem about 2 novels full of
  champion.
    they can sing his arm
  and started shipped and left
  to pull the cigarette to a green hotel
  and the red wings are like a storied town with the
  door.
    after good am I the lady change
  that the wind said, "I'll fight the first time you
  wanted to be a part of the
  writer and about the maid; I thought, I'll let me have to do, you wanted me to sell somehow
  but you've got to get a
  couple of feelings with nobody was a lot of shining
  like things down. . ."
    he was a new shirt about the thing of man
  with a notebook said the woman,
  and I walked into his head
  and he was her back
  in a red car, and I
  asked.
    "what is it, this is it? you
  don't have to do. well, you got the
  performance! 3 house for you, you'll do this
  get walking up!
  hell," he
  asked.
   "all right, I can't beat you," he says
  and we walked into the back of the bar
  and he was all right there are filling the
  coffee.
  "you know that all you do to work?"
  "oh, what's that?" she said.
   "it's the end, baby, I'm not alive!"
  I said, walked away, he said, "yeah, yeah, he said, the other
  stupid says you have to get your death, and I want
  to help the floor and I told you, baby
  there is a strange house, you could omit and say
  you changed another cream and you'll know what they have
  come to me, the others were really about a
  chance at a rear expecting thing about everything, and they tell you,
  mean could you need you about the making or the same?
  we are a great place where before I was really existed
  at least, sitting with a decade,
  somebody says, nothing changed if you want to do is like it wasn't pretty, why doesn't me are wont to
  hold and death?
  which wore bastards in my hand that they like somebody was still slow
  in a door alone?" I asked.
   "that same sun, I don't know, I said, you're left of yours. you know what the hell you've got me a confession, there
  how you're a large exception at a note or I'll be all ever abandon you?"
  "no."
  "it won't come to your pants and though you've known.
  I don't want to be there, or I'll do it all over you
  back there in the street and it was crying to give you anybody,
  you'd be to say that it's really the doctor and I'm going to cry
  the race is always all your work
  as if they would not be a second woman in my barren thousand
  cars.
  and I went in today and I walked over and
  said the last arter and I watched them at a magical
  grass.
  that singer paid for January like a rounded note
  and the cops said the other man was the same.
  when the world was working at the bathroom
  and he's rolled by a dream about the letter from Rome, which is
  thinking that for a memories about I said, he was
  followed them all, I told him, they can't really find her back and on.
  "you want to see me."
  "he still got back in the walls."
  "I won't come to me."
  "well, what are you doing what you can follow me?"
  "I don't want to do is this thing," I told him.
  and I walked in and out of a little Carl having a chair, and I
  got.
  I walked through the terror, he said, "I am aged. then walked around, you're down your arms and
  pulling your belt, as somebody sat down into the cart, the old stories walk stark and charged in the
  chair, and you knew the extra thing out of the toilet has a
  look on the St. is to put in the bathroom, the dogs went out
  but there was a long time with a little while the graveyards are my wallet and the liver
  in the Irisheads and the man who tried to know that I would come up at the hand down the radio and cry
  about the old day when I could walk into a street with his mother.
  the whore is a drink, there were sometimes they had
  any leaving
  and I have to do is sing and all of them are walking alice and
  smoked, thin before the charge might run to your mouth and there are great wine and the push of in the belly, and I am turned to
  write white lips, their bacon and tires
  and the swings of my eyes were not razed with a
  follie dyed and the other eyes
  and they made of our way to the door,
  the crown run into the coffee and pretended
  the pain in the perfect storm places they wanted to be a suitcase,
  and the others
  of convention must be
  the bottle of the streets of heads,
  the men and wars of myself could be nice,
  and I thought we didn't have an
  love from the general hard
  even the first time I tell them
  to work, said the truck--
  a little in lieanness, they are all the good
  and was one of them
  the blondes of old killermanes,
  but the waitress drives them into the wind, but I am sure
  and the sun gates off the
  back.
  a bathtub is broken.
  a stepping from the walls with his
  baseball
  victory.
  she was blind and mushroom,
  he just started me.
  the oversignity of conversation is excresced and
  opened
  the flesh of the soul that might need
  was
  we wanted.
    I am a little about his presence
  and I walked alone ago
  and I leave a pair was there
  the big one, I locked.
  he said, I thought, he didn't want to see the
  country: the hand-pulled dogs he walked the leaves
  off the radio and pale eyes, and I looked at him for another
  burning my blood.
  a truly thing I wouldn't have to get to
  sing.
  and she asked me about it working on you, I watched them and sat there and they came here
  and I guess it was so long after the lady in
  "I knew that what about what she's lost!"
  I still asked me if the boy was
  changed.
  I sat there like the wet man's face of
  a gold piano and the next day we went on, the next day
  I let him go, walked into the streetclack and he was
  like an old man with a woman, I watched him;
  he said to my right and looked at my back
  and she walked aroundable, still, the long black cup of women
  were never that his person to the homesteads.
  "well, there's not enough when you
  want to hate you."
  "you gonna be a greater dancing to the
  bathroom and chalked out to me?"
  I don't mind her many fares and she was going to say
  "I knew I wouldn't breathe"
  "hold, it will crown too funny,"
  she said, "I mispred, why did you go
  this?"
  "that's all right," I say.
  "I won the champ, doing that time," I
  said, "I understand your name."
  "when you get a real bottle for you, me the same in the air?
  Am I shover for the mountains?
  I don't like the man who wears me far around
  and it's a great wine and some man who did you do is
  more than nothing? how are you doing?"
  "well, I said," I told him, "sometimes it will really write about that mama
  and all this she does not much about yourself
  with your thoughts. now it was a place and women work
  if I was always thinking about
  the more and the first time we made if somebody wanted to be casked, then walked out
  on me.
  I need the way to work and walked around
  through the door
  sometime I walk too thinking that thing had been badly
  and all the fumes and I have lost the
  pitchon and the crazy car volume of the mouth.
  they talked, the man who taught me the blocks of things
  full of wine but I continued to be strange
  and it was a lonely note if you don't care
  if that I will see long ago on the
  tub, I said, all your call rether before you read
  me how to do what you can't help you, you're all I wanted to see
  from here and one of them that is stupid, thinking of
  hearts and son-of-a-bitch became that it
  do not know what they have to do their work and
  the guys on. someone said, when I am in the
  street and I saw a black with great heart
  and being stupid, all those long blues that interview you
  probably a damned persimmon many death is
  too much to be a second rotten more
  art: yet dear to me, I knew you were a long time to come in, why do you
  find you? and you doing all these good days?
  no matter what you do nothing about
  death at your stuff, you
  see you if you want to start
  the tail or to enough to find a will or
  your cats' wine to see what you took your tongue
  and the door
  turn to the window
  or by a Bitch!
  either the great whime.
  the big rock is still
  red, your eyes
  dry the side
  and all the dead
  in the intestine
  of the dead is the
  couple of a home.
  and here you clean them on the
  refrigerator with the tape of
  the eyes looking for the bathtub
  down the street in a wrecker's left.
  I can't see the long and the sink
  and your power for me
  but I knew you don't even know about
  you.
  they slid my dog mail you see
  the soul and the one who promises to be
  I think, you could get along in a chair to hear the cat
  rolling you and freeze as a bombman who has been in there
  when you got to get sleepy at 6 p.m.
  it's been my social screaming.
  I walk the television deep in the
  chairs
  and the writing is made
  you were a spoon into others
  and I would walk alone,
  and you see the screams of the grass
  there's nothing but your lips
  when their money things do not
  start somewhere.
    with a few man your blind lives
  that it will still pay their
  failures.
    or do what you will excuse
  them.
    I am leaving,
  they said you can't
  give up my car in a dollar car
  and I don't know why I wanted you in
  where the accused as we reach like homeless,
  and the red tire broke into the
  paper bum.
  they don't tell me, the children is surprise
  and somebody not seen their first woman with the nuns are
  hours.
    there is no testiment
  and zero is thinking of
  the statues and the same whiskey
  are your many women and minds
  when it cannot be more than your
  court
  too.
    I wonder if I was really walking
  alone.
    I am a man who didn't get up
  on my right
  and I watched the crapper where the docks and
  stockings down the grower flesh of water and drinking a
  roach.
    I hoped that beautiful woman says "yes," I said, "hold you are the truck?"
  I said, and I told her she and walked around
  and blowing hig up the window,
  she turns his pants to the back day
  and at 4 a.m. or Saturday
  yet that wasn't bad as if I have done your place to be a decent
  guidance.
    and I thought you were a fine, and
  there is something to do?
  I don't like them all.
    I got blues.
  I don't like the man who doesn't want
  to have to see or do, said the other,
  that night, I want to do nothing,
  all I didn't shine them known that they were going by there
  writing with the name of the streets of the dark and
  small good and the truth;
  then you'd be able to see when you don't know
  when there is a waiting home
  their poems to the scores they don't know what to do not
  doing what they want anyway.
  and you are not phones and forgot to be
  that thing is in a little time
  that was the spider of the thing or
  what the world wants me
  until it will cried for the way up.
  again, I haven't been reading me.
  and I said, you got anyther time to take a get better
  than your branded man, you said runnin' some good shit
  on your very near-blaze,
  time will be crying, a virgin trip it in the
  wall?
  and I got down the acid combat
  rabbitch. I'm glad I got that room and
  somebody else
  or the canvas had a big lonesome
  better on the bachtop.
  I watched the police and the poor
  institution. what about my friends are full of
  reason? you got to go to the way you'll remember
  hell, I don't like them all over you to get these
  like a number, you live for the lady what you want to start
  and you're a gentleman, why did you be sick and you
  walk into a dog when you get drunk again?
  they were always elsewhere, and I don't like the way every time you are the way you think what about it we need
  and I guess I wanted to see the pure market and the other day she walked out of the doorknob of a time sometimes I guess
  will you please that much chance when you got the mailbox in bed and the next day
  I drive alone into the doorway to work and
  write you. . .one will be gone.
  the next day they say they like to catch up the bars
  to be there to be sorry
  but I don't like the thing that lost it will
  but she interests me ever a woman: they can sleep
  and when I am going to be back, the contented poem
  complaining to be confused with the interior world, but the way they tell him we are
  gone.
  not too many times then came up and brought him
  here I am sad he probably been or
  broken:
  "yeah, you got any you like
  this
  lovely accept an idiot
  and it's not dead.
  and the next day we were there
  when you look at me in the sink of a small
  town and I have been there in a strange woman
  you'll look back with me and I remember when you can't take the red
  thing."
  "nothing! the man I hate them."
  "what the hell is it the stuff?
  what was GRINK YOU
  BRANG THO CHASS. KIE
  I've heard that here I have paid to do it all that cat."
  "please turn and go by," I said.
  "I'll give you doing these are his--"
  "well, I answered,"
    "I am a puzzllew who worked in the morning
  to start him like a Form,
  and I walked down and Making a few men--
  the birds are gone, I aver the soul.
  I drive this guy with my eyes and paper is a new whiskey, one of those old boy "you see you a mistake" and I look there again and I think you are a
  shared lover who can't believe they would like to be seen for me to see
  that the truth will be so unwilling
  that it will not be discussing for an
  a normal women and yourself, may your lover identy to be an
  one by here. us to hit my fingertain and
  please tell you, you can't believe it.
  real you must be the first town. And you made a breast,
  you will altoge down at the window
  and your stuff face to be the horses stand
  there is a crow-blame basket, suck green lights.
  I will stand in a little thing else can be alive
    the viral emobace they are mine.
  and they were more wonderful before to be
  the greatest workshipping of sports while
  sitting on a pair of space,
  and I got up and looked at my
  interest, the world of pure
  high fellows.
  at home in a poet who treats him in party and
  mexican friends and hand
  and she was guilty, far as alive as it went back to the
  grandsting, and then he scooled the face of the rest
  with the state of the lover of his money and her inside,
  sometimes except for his wife and hands and
  interior laws and the side-of--
  the last circus dressed in the window the phones are
  got him up in the light of the hills
  listening
  back--sleeping some time; who'd get a-glimmed
  into an ancient day?
  ballad--some men with empty hands and
  white mansion.
  so no way to me, I tell me something you have no
  expectation. well, the police and you
  will meet them buckles,
  that's the support of the bottom of the soul,
  certainly not pulled out a set of figtter blood
  of hubbuds.
  and, of course, he said in a box in here
  when you follow the street in the window back
  first the chicken sticks up and twisted and leaving
  them in a dirt rotten with the beautiful thing: they listen to the bamboo
  the clock and wine in the bathroom and
  your eye can be called me to appoint:
  "Bukowski, we're going to see you!" asked that his arms and women are more
  about.
    "what the hell is a complexities, you know the great yake is the gentleman
  no money?"
    "why is it matters, but I've made you?"
    Modern comes out of coffee,
  and I walked out on the couch
  and the world is in the sunlight,
  and then they slept in my pen
  and we stared the shipping legs alone
  he drank a matchless cricket with his
  feet and wonderful screaming
  to the echo of the truck.
  and the thing has been wasted out of
  me.
  there is a task or why he said she said they were
  better than we are all so
  about.
    and he said, "I'll fight you champ" I'll get you down and
  just didn't remember if they would say
  why I am and what I don't like them or the
  reversiestic block!
  they want to kill you, what are you doing?"
   "I'm going on, gonna pull up! Chinaski!
  you want is to return to the end
  and I'm going to take me
  just to get your stories tomorrow.
   some misprinting most deed will you said or
  thank you, sir
  hit you, get your
  back.
  you were an alley before they sit around
  scratching dogs and
  power to get their pants.
  we are not sure.
  they will read alone with you and
  most pulled down the track
  as for a gambler the flash of newly
  filled with the boys and here comes the
  walls, they are to they see how they go
  you talk about water and
  me, I kissed here to her
  dog of cane.
  we have a little tiger and you can't
  get it now.
  it's a hunk on my shoes.
  another one left and let them make their lovers, staring at my mind
  before they believed the simple dealing of our lights
  I got into our old woman killed by and waving the screen
  and the edict on the Rock behind me
  and like a pullin' blood of poems
  and eyes of red stone,
  and the whores are few the lions with a green void,
  all the man was crucified with the world
  this was the tangled body, plus every brade
  and the woman came off a good boy and it was
  true, not a dragon, the human
  days—(and I wonder if it is town here,
  and what's this? Sometimes I guess.
  the weakness is worth to the coffeeshop,
  a stranger wore a dead pave of whiskey,
  the world has spun it with his lovely dead dead
  with a new place.
    the cats walk into the wooden horse
  and the phone rang and the counter
  cut with two hands to the feet hand off a small tv
  the bathrobe has always been in a bad deal of straps and
  screaming and some of them
  walk along.
    they were down to the notebooks of an unemployed tune,
  but the sun fell down, that the rich and the
  heads of conceit.
    or the recording woman is
  that matters come in,
  there is no one there.
    it's the 7 dog os and the beer
  that make a little child
  and they got their new
  high robes
  without everything and
  writing: wrong
  is there without
  incompressive man.
  anyhow, don't think that nobody wants to have
  love to do is holding a dog,
  there is no man to do to this
  promenade.
  there is no such as you are not curious.
    we will be while
  there is no more that lovers
  part of them
  that there is nothing to do is
  that there is burning in the air
  and it is My life
  or a dog between the radio
  and the sky
  strip it out like a hungry shock before the same
  the leaves grabbed their wine
  I spare another cellbreath
  with dead red tops.
  the heat of many window
  does it wait for a will before you become
  about it, and
  at the bar
  or when I didn't
  any cut more.
    they said the same white pain
  as glasses and clouds
  there in the rock while wonderful soul is in the trucks,
  and the wind spies out of the
  spider, and I came first and a boy like an invisible cigarette
  I could lift his backyard to pass and
  stood there and I looked around the street
  but it was hardly the world was somewhere
  so now everybody is like a bound
  and all that was one of those matador
  and the action at 2:30 a.m. in the
  other.
   there is the only one in my flesh
  and you are the mind
  you might as well be bad as my wife
  and your whore, it seems so much of
  things were all about the first
  typewriter
  or who works if you were only
  they are all about
  someone who have willed read
  and.
  but the worst thing of it all they were going to get it
  or start them too much
  feeling they wasted on an unfortunate
  always a brush. sometimes I feel make a miracle,
  and I walk to the room and that takes the flame
  saying, "you turned away, some dollar of a woman, I can't
  really know where?"
    "I walked two women parked in a white page and
  wait."
  "I know what I am. a woman who thinks you're sending you or
  that's hell, you could be said, you read the
  world again, I guess it will care?
  my wife you can't allow me to me:
  "Shit, what's this?"
  "I hate to see you again
  but you need a chair, they are full of
  first
  speech!"
  and then he said, "I don't want a guy in a little but something with it all over
  and your letter, she's only pain and then she walked the Market.
  "hey, man, honey, all right, jumped up with my fist--
  it's a big tit, when you can't have been there about a while
  and she said that soon it will move you by the clean corner in the
  track
  you don't do is that you're fry
  looking by the wisdow
  and I'm not doin' it will you see them
  and the children walk off in a rock
  and the walls of all my lovers red
  under
  your shoe.
  there was a bag of stories
  and love, I thought you can't
  let you do, I thought," she said.
  he felt a baseball too. she gaunt through
  and I just mean too much for me
  as I tried to start my ears and talk about his
  small pen, walked to the door with his baby, and
  as I walked to the brake of the marble of the morning and a while he lays a very sad
  men came back into my bed and my skin will be the tears
  and the suppremative things have been his woman in a movie star
  for a week from the track to greet him for 15 minutes, they are coming--
  laughter when he said with hatred and stranger
  and it began to come along with me.
  maybe we left to the cats in the
  register, unknown, that's or what this was being screaming
  there are waiting to go and they are my
  writer, and I walk across the street
  to see if it were running the track
  the wine you got the lonely world in the
  world.
  what the hell you told her now?
  there are some of them as they say
  that you wanted me to very much a
  bitch. look at home and here concerning the men who slipped me on my
  wine bottle
  on the throat back and paid for you--you said you love you
  when you got any wonderful charge your sister
  have another day.
  you didn't want to be plunged into me
  there is nothing but looking. . .the forests were alive as if you want to see any
  mind in the mailbox: I am your funeral
  like candy man. 'tellini, said my love on a heat on a broken guy
  or the other was terrible or men paper
  and the dogs have this fear: and what are you doing him before?
  you're the way you bet your
  arrangement tricks and you
  kept the woman in your lovely you telling you
  you're dead, you know, I don't like 8 or 4 times and
  anybody's got my hot in the evening the side of the screen
  toward the bathroom and the sun walked over to me
  the charge of the butterd and smart and
  he worshipped by an affair with crazy wine
  and some people screaming and they pushed the giant parking lot and
  and death I hear a while envy-
  I feel bad at it all again.
  my god, I want to call a coffee.
  the god might tell you the others that love and
  your tiger and some thing alone and
  I could hand a damn thing in the walls
  of pretty passing their eye
  and when you were spared,
  it was a form of man,
  he or what he told me but since I was
  an old boy, the other time, I said.
  she leaves are never an indignant
  more. I walked on the
  bed.
  then the last one of wine began to go go, he was all right.
  or she said, and she said, "I'll fight you down."
  he liked the bathrugs one less.
  "hell ya pillow, you can't
  have a goal" I am of
  being a perfect coming from the
  house," I said.
  the children said, "I'll get the spider and
  paid them out of it!"
  as I went into the door with my front head and
  stopped and watched the
  window to the soul wheels and one again
  and I walked across the street when I was born into the room and
  and I didn't know what to do about much
  like a beer-back tamboard and punches on our backs of
  spiritual ass of cheap curses beautiful and
  part of them
  as the police lies in a black city
  and when I finally got a white coffin and a moment in the
  window
  when some of them tracked it with a homeless existence
  and the name is the heart withdraws and I walk to the
  pavement and look at me and another day
  I walked into the top of the table. and
  I walked into the edge of the brush
  and the loveless years walked away over and paused
  and Jew dools will be the way to the bathroom and a second man;
  she didn't trust Henrache Years and I despite him a chair to see him between
  trees, it was a truth at a time with a track
  sat down.
  I walked into the bar and then she walked back from the wooden persistent:
  "what about you?"
  "he ran up un? It's a bad band and he was going to send me a chair. I told her.
  "I don't know exactly this is it."
  "she's not one of those who have proved at all, I don't know, they can't
  know."
  but then they sat down and there was a little wet those lilacs and
  years ago he was one of those thoughts for keys
  in a knife remain and a thought was empty
  and horse and so speeches pressing in one of his houses.
  "what the hell is, how about an Edith and sink, what are you doing?"
  "o.k., you got anoreal part, then she was sickness.
  Later, you consider yourself:
  my women went out--I never did someplace and
  been living.
  they didn't know what I knew
  why I am best friends who wants to believe it were going and
  pray grant and blue-and--they are
  walking the poem to me with their woman near the
  nuts. . .he just kept drinking a big clay
  to the more things that are told them all the time in my bluebeans and
  war.
  my friend, I hardly knew the next time I thought I'd
  know.
  I don't want to do is this lake: you're blood and
  can you believe that they were all sincerity? God damn you then they were poor
  their conversation
  but they are all poor
  bitch, let them in the antique yard
  and it is in the streets without thinking about
  their newspaper beer captive to much of your
  organs--all you can get your face.
  I am a mad divingrame while my heart freeze as much
  a chair of your question. I don't like your friends where I have become
  bad and my poems
  of my peace,
  I think the problement on the variants we were two or three
  younger deaths,
  and the blood fills up the gulle like a chair on the park.
  I should have known some new Cadill Person to another note
  and I walked over and I don't even
  learn about them.
  I see them off the walls and all the way to them
  of the world.
  I don't like the other simply and I said, I guess I wanted my complaint one
  years.
  I walked off and talked about we looked at the seats.
  and that in the world too hot ladies the graveyard
  and a man I am going to the world
  it gave me a shower and her dead and murder about the
  soul, the excuse was interested in a circle of
  things to eat.
  the catcher'd back is half-drugged and watched the notes
  and there was a good luck and a piece of squintillers and
  actions of life.
    then, we were strangers and old killers,
  but looking at me and our flash is without a brown shade
  and he said, "how to get your behind?"
    "I mean, you must write the purchase for your house, I'm going
  in the hospitality!"
    my friend, I wonder if he was so hard
  and he was a friend now
  past prayer with the dog
  or on the racetrack, and it
  was a comrade of water.
    he must be sitting within his bone
  and I looked at him and
  dead, I thought about her things, said the
  radio.
  she told me, he said, I thought, I'd
  have to see if a half accepting her most
  beautiful things. when I am a man walking out of the bottle
  of the earth and I had a life and punches into the corner
  and he looked around and we ran off and patted again
  the rum left her and began to see her behind a cheap walls
  and poked the small low one for a while in the lifetime;
  the little bullet is a better thing to make a better day.
  the elephants had stupid is cleared by a big day
  that was the price of his strolling canel
  his strongest today half-a-hundred signs
  show his brain in the old dog bark of the
  Persian Allen Standay and so close the
  little traffic, the chample twists of mind
  like a company while I reach too many musician
  like a nut foul of the payoff, and
  if I were sad:
  "there's a standin' on the back trunk--she said?
  I can't believe it and we'll accept your
  feelings and I don't know what I guessLe, I'm going
  to me, he said, you're stranded and waiting you and I
  won't believe the fat man makes a bathtub
  back, I am not every kid anymore
  and have I done that time we drank with the harmonicad
  champ.
  although I think they would never ask nothing
  to be a drink town to the car.
  my work and my guard say, I don't know why the hell you are?
  some of your bad and you don't know, I said, you
  didn't want to be thinking about kid.
  she said that you're down at this bathroom for
  the punches.
  and you've got a pair big hit and
  she couldn't see her speak right now,
  that singers are thinking about
  strange and beautiful younger boy,
  many a boy was some more than bye gonna
  remember from the womb and I am
  a lonely tired and you can't have to go
  to somebody else in the
  window.
  it was a turkey of many times.
  I feel my friend, I thought you mean, I thought, they want to see them
  and I am sitting there
  like a good night about the grave of a gambling wall.
  when you can't stand and say you'd be and you met
  you, I don't know
  what you have a fellow
  and I went on to the taco on the couch of your forest
  and you've sucked a point on the track
  while you can't stop please tomorrow
  while you're a great actor
  and you couldn't soon answer,
  if you're going on for
  the same tires
  like a dog or the form of a Big
  shopping parking lot of blood before
  I have ever had to get you down in a sharp million
  the state of wonderful guy who could offer
  them who practices your face when they will
  be better like any other
  thing to do
  and after a phantom box where I'm going to win you
  it was too much pretty now
  but I don't want to be a determined
  like.
  I'm going to get drunk
  the dead dogs are like a pull of
  there saying and I am a cold expection
  and your teeth out of the city
  when I was so long
  wearing a piano at me through a jam of something
  you could never will send me
  if I have never showed
  my dreams and nothing you can't see
  following them.
  then I'm going to do when they
  pull their water on a long time
  and it really wasn't for a
  while in New Orlyry, you want to give up a
  card thousand money in the window,
  and the next time you can choose a couple of stockings,
  little but on the streets
  like a dog we shine
  shit, big gray voice, go inside of
  the eye of the barnacress, she pulled out the
  stairway.
  he told me it was a bunterman language
  that it was a little in the breaker, a
  his eyes in with complexion
  a day in the persistent.
  but they say,
  "Martha!"
    "I'll leave you this man, your lovers, how do you like to be able to have it at
  walls and the company?"
  "I make me in a little prison" he said but it wasn't
  My Reader he talks about the nun -- then then came out on the
  gate, the cats are full of and sat a better wine in the sun, and
  I walked off to his life that get out of the line and
  paintings about 3 political womans, and the old man went off
  with his white boy.
  she tells me, and I wonder about him from the tires we walked around
  and the phone rang again: why does it feel your hand and
  most pretty lucky man
  stupid here?
    then the writer says one of those who wouldn't
  walk alone. there is the man who thinks
  I am a big big wheel of a hotel
   and the walls when you please you
  walk away.
  I spent her seven business, I said, you come to your soul in my blood
  Get much of a low bunch of a lifetime, you
  parked in front of them and walked into the middle of
  my window, and the small roar was
  the landlady candy bags.
  then I remember what they find him
  and I said, and she never
  asked.
  "what would I go to the bathroom?"
  "where did you have? He never gets in the mirror?"
  "get the earthquake alone."
  "what's going on there?"
  "God at my first poor peace!"
   "we don't know what you wanted to be
  no more of a good many
  mean. I'm going to tell you that you write
  although you needn't seem to be the man with the lady in an alley
  that sit in a track and it's all straight and
  there isn't anybody the screaming of
  a final attice with you when you
  can't get up with a big title thing
  and you've got to see.
  "the old guy will get along."
  "did you go to see a bed beyond me but you're dead
  you can't drop out of my first doing?"
  we always won't blame another drink.
  I like the phone but not too many people and lovers to make
  him or the other side of his manager who
  heard them to get off and I looked around and said, "I know what I got to help me!"
  he left her name for his soul.
  "you don't know if I want to want to
  start and say, she said.
  you don't mean to see you."
  "not in time you do the doctor!"
  but I watched the women and left
  and I went in there.
  I don't fell up in there.
  I like me. I'll be there now what the beating of the crowns came in,
  I pulled out a fart.
    Everything can always be in the center of the 3rd
  and when a man can't leave behind them
  on the ground like a tiny bucket of heat
  and the one who did it and stay for the dancing woman and I had to
  send them there and I pulled on the table--
  and when somebody was a good rain, and
  I don't like them and I said and as
  when I am twenty they were the man I liked
  the people are so sad,
  what are they working about
  your father?
  some mind you can't respect your agent
  is."
   the time I'll have to be a cigarette and
  he asked.
  I been there. he'd like a house and
  fucked here.
  he was sucking up the
  chill and the scrapbort wasn't left of the
  whiskey, he said, he said and stopped
  and I walked through the door when I was very well
  and she said, "I don't like this woman, yeah, he wouldn't have a new wine, all my soul.
  we walked around at 65 doctocs. this is sometimes a
  comparition.
  and I'll go anywhere, I thought all right, it was
  except that it was a man driving the panoramatic tabletors
  and I see that old woman with a beer
  and I thought, I can't have a mermaider
  in a rockets once again, and I leaned off the floor and
  the leaves are a walk of stories, I spied, dropped across the hand
  and the people were caught at the window and the way they tell you
  like rain walking.
  of course, I get the good day and as I can feel them the others are
  there was one of them that I could never see
  them and they are all singing their girlfriends we were back, we are at the last chair
  as I pulled out the city to the mailbox and
  lifted it on and out of the music exceptional and
  descending their toothless legs.
    not so well wait so friends are not bad
  for a different note on the streets of porch
  on the stars and we walk off my ass,
  and one day we were there; and the horse slips and
  as the dirt in the lover
  we are hardly thinking of her brother and
  wondering about the bosses of
  an orange and a dead road for me to
  her death, or and now and then there is only anybody
  they always come from
  it.
    the old friends were gone, or use all this
  chair snakes me, they knew what
  we will look at the god,
  what an end of the highway was going to gather a sad
  best and a fairground?
  I am interesting with my new and
  soothing to do and
  the bars and the verses that must
  tell you the hosts of love or
  anybody must have stores.
  it wasn't better than space,
  and failure will delight their
  pain.
    I will know this work is there or
  the black and whiskey but who is
  sure
  or the self-considering dogs
  the same one there were an answer
  and their novels come around
  but their price make any reverse
  and what wonderful to sits there
  and if we didn't blame them blood
  from the head of the back and the wise good night at the
  starter, stub of counterance, and sucking a cheap for the
  century.
    they got up and called a dirty box to go to the track
  the Cadill
  the morning for some brilliant man whenly music is a red,
  hung barely gone to them paper.
  it is myself again to some expected
  the one or about some more,
  and I love you more and not crazy?
  they were wonderful of
  friends:
  what this was? I answer, you knew the ending semi-place at
  your dream.
  the man who didn't think:
  why do you think about it?
  where's your life?
  what is it about? is it because
  you be with me?
  what did you get up and
  luck their parts?
  you're up on the bar, begin!
  and the horses will not still
  get these drivers and walking the
  tree?
  the man would go away,
  it was a big beautiful pace
  barren at 71.6%
  and the legs of time found some tears.
  and I see the price
  of them.
  sitting with his guy
  they are gone at last
  yet. . .
   poor day of course, he said
  and the beer is going to get a
  beautiful dog banks and the boys
  are very strange, you can't
  ever be creating about
  me. it's a little lonesome
  dirty child.
    we put a rocket from the street
  with a harpman buttoned
  back the glass below, it was a big terror, the world and
  known and about the conception
  and I were not ready: I put the city tubers with me,
  bad then considered the time and the sun coming accordingly by a telephone drink,
  the face of the gods.
  it had been there and the trumpet of the brave eyeglesses,
  and I walked in and out of a human bottle of
  fellow and I like real women
  and the few times when they were the
  fields
  and sometimes when it has climbed
  around the bones and the heads of the flat tiny
  spot of the universe, I walked into the state
  light bright and the harvest faces
  and the lamp and the streets we turn
  back and stood in the eyes of space and
  watched them.
    I never thought they would never be asleep
  but I'm on the morning
  I have toss it and
  open the window
  I am always good
  and I wonder about a few times
  when you are going to start
  everywhere.
    I guess I wouldn't care if you
  know, I am a good lawyer with you
  stuck it out of the window,
  I don't like Music and Starly Dirlow to my bed,
  the vultures will not let me cry
  and sometimes I wonder like perfume
  but they never could send me about my danging
  like a dictionary without flamingops.
    later a woman saves one of those who were a single lane
  without any part
  and life: they never quit somebody seems to
  get there.
  you could like it to the voice of it,
  what is it? what they were better? I am a
  got trying to care about you, but I am
  writing a decade of place you
  lived with the gods and the simple words of heroes
  in the streets of fact and the gods and senses, their county in the
  vacation.
    the girls pass the choppoculic of a big life, what a man
  and they asked me about the world about what sephemies?
  and the rest follows, they will be a broken many thing
  on the slot in the fields,
  it finally they are like they were only more traffic and
  thoughts.
  the rock wasn't for the many any more
  for a depth.
 

be supposed to be really betrayed by death [Full Poem] [Temp. 0.291]

be supposed to be really betrayed by death.

     16
I saw the form in the corner, and the soul is not so slow;
It is the one who shall be great, I am a man who pressing all his pretty before the same as they are
    supposed to work for all that
    the soul is not the same,
It is to be a man anyhow, it is not a chance with me.

     16
The bards of the picturesque, all world with the land and the
    buckets of the brown barnest words and women,
After free common and court is for my sake, and it seems,
Not to be the same to me, and what it is it shouts before you.
In sight and die and not love with me.

     5
What is it in the altar of my life?
And what a contempt of indispress'd and dead,
I cannot see the meaning of my own arcadian shadows,
I take my place along the river and the stars are faithful,
And womanhood with me and all its death-lines, complexion,
And what is it, or what is love?

     46
I see the verses of the stars and mortals, the stars and steamboats and
    clear and heavy blood,
The bandage of the southern pasture-glass belonged with
    the first bandanand men and women,
And the songs of songs, or bright and wider through the bones,
I bring thee all the rest of the broad bayonets,
I am curious and serious and sad and more than they are not my soul and before them.

     34
Not to hell you my brain is for myself,
(I am charm'd with nothing except nativity,
And he was born a while to speed it in the dark and to them that is satint,
Long in the war and the stars and moon and stone hair and steamboat quiet and
    citizens, and laughter,
The soul--the student stands in the same water, and the stars are culminating the stars,
And the voice of the river in the midst of the war,
Wherever many a star of the march of the stars and farms,
And a stranger, the first I behold the shadowy boat, the laboring man the same as the sun was
    forgetful as here to go.
How they contrade him for a hero to sing.

     15
The procession of the world, and in the midst,
And all the world was born and all the rest, and waits for thee in the
    farms,
The whole of the martyr faces the stranger wanted with the sun and sky,
Their while the sun waits for the world over and over the streets,
The stars with the streets of his forehead in the sky,
    the flows of the shadowy stocks and stones,
The shadowy arrogance of the sun and stones the stars and
    the stars, the strong hand of the sky,
The shadowy storm-wait, the streets and the shade of the sunlight and the
    laughing storm,
And the stretch of the steamblates of the grave, or the stretch'd windows,
The stars of the swart and swart--the shower the stretch of the sun,
    the stretch'd with the fires and the bullets of the sun,
The continual continual walks and stones of the sun,
The sky strike up the flashing tides of the brown bugles,
The sea and smile and the streets of the stars,
The flag of the stars and the steamboat the sun will never be sung,
    and the travelers of the stars,
The little white sands and the bullets of the grave,
Where the flames were the same and sure and song,
The soul in the soul of men and women and earth, and the stars.

     2
Came along with the sunshine I needed to be the same,
And a song of the son, the world of old and trees and stones,
I see the soul of men and women and women and cannot be answer'd that it is so.

     43
I know it souls will stand at the highest of the world,
And march'd for the country and the stars and stones of men.

     15
The butcher of the musical gun,
The songs of brood and blood, and the fire-blocks and grass,
And a street of the battle-field for the sun, the stars with the storm,
The blood of the flowers of the soul in the midst of the sun,
    the soul--the song of the sun,
What are the grass is the same and superb? the song of the world of the earth is
    the streets of the sky,
The soul is the soul, the swart and strength of the stars.

     14
The sun shines in the darkness of the sea,
And the song of the many a star with the steamboat the palace of the stars.
  Beautiful and daring them,
What is the mission of the morning what they are,
For I know that what the two of them are the same as they are not the same,
And be a man who has entered the same things that is between them,
And what is it is the same old lady who wore as they lie at the sea.

     5
What a stallion stand on the stars,
Here are the lights of the stars and the blocks of the brook,
And the spirits of the stars and the brown barns are filling their crimsons,
And the whole or the first thou art proud and fibre of the stars.

     2
Come for any one of you, I am the present and true and real,
And all the world over all the rest, the same which was behind,
All this warble and substance and enemies, and the soul,
For the eternal thing, of the merry word to be a soul while,
The whole Otyetic World Wainamoinen, and the Comrades,
It was a friend whose throbbing with a song for all with his friends and depths and
    secure,
The present and the entrenchating of all the rest,
The superb scene of the modern world, the soul,
The inexhaustible iron in thy mines.
Anarom to the landscapes of the modern world of the earth been always
    ready for thieves,
In the day and night I swear I hear in the sea, it is for thee, dear Mother,
We own it all and several to-day indissoluble in thee;
The varied products of O my soul in the ship, which I fold you,
I am consider'd, not a clear commingless woman,
And far away from its forgetful child, how the three stars are clearing the stars,
In war I will sing on and on to-day and dancerture long,
    nor the bay-start and the water for you,
The whole of the martial enemy is in them that is so great,
It is I do not say any thing in them that is so great,
It is I do not say one day I am a soul of life.

     51
The present and the rest of the merry word down to any man here?
Why are the good new and dead face?
Have you thought there could be you!
You light me to the landscape down your hand and sparkling soul?
Are you for the soul, as I too am I at the topmost(queation,
I plant my part of the man that makes you preserve the same thing you may be there,
I but you press the one thing I am not as good as the same.

    16
The spare of the rest,
As I walk'd the past and pasture of the world, the morning walks on me,
I too with my spirit around the press of my own face,
I see the soul in the morning and the world over and over the stars.

    4
The singer stands by the stars,
The little children of the hand of my dancers and the
    mountains, the stars of the stars,
And all the while the mocking touch of men.

    14
The travelers of the host which scannaly made a man or woman,
And the songs of the soul--but the first I behold the price of the supremes,
    and with the mothers of mighty be not sure as the sun sets to
    the soul,
The soul, the opera, the far-off courter's religion,
The calm of the stars, the stars and the bells, the blue earth and the stars,
The shadowy dreams of the steamblates of the south and the streets,
The streets of the light and the streets of the streets and the squadrone eyes of the
    shadow of the sun and sky,
I call'd the promises and susceptions, and the soul is not so slow.
  The Sea, a God (who can see the stars of me,)
And I saw the song of the hard times the sun is strong,
And the confusion went of the day with the body of the earth,
And the other way of the storm the bright streets are clearing the streets,
It is the work of the earth and the prizes of the soul,
The soul--the stars have not a beauty who would in the soul,
The procession of the modern world, which was the same as the sun was born,
The man who had spoken with the stranger with his prey with his face,
And a star sufficients and as the soul, he saved the divine and deck and leaving his with
    any man translates them,
And when the sun that shall be the master of the town and the stars.
  The soul is the start of the dead,
Here are the farms, the free souls of the soul,
The whole of the rest of the more than one who lovest to be their work,
The shape of the stars and the stars, and the streets and the stars.

     4
I see the soul of the soul,
And a song that cannot be as the same.
  The soul is the same as the same as the soul,
The far-spreading scallop-epicy of the husband,
A gray-broom streams and where the running sea-ships,
The spirit of life and deceit and perfect past,
The farthest white and dead of the earth and the whole of the
    father of earth,
Any more than the supreme is the master and of the earth,
I speeding the price and performer, the soul, the interminable dwelling and
    decision of the earth.
I but all worsh perfect songs of stern defiance ever ready,
Songs of stallows of all the rest, the screamback of the summer,
The American compact is here to lean in the sake and on the show,
It is to walk with nothing but life and simply are to be the real and loud my work and workmen that wants to do,
I know not fruition's one else so song to I love you, I and my lords and labor to me that my work is blood and crimson,
I cannot remember for any one thing I saw that there is nothing for you,
I cannot see the butcher and belonging me and ready for me.

     16
For the graves with one lady protecting all those things,
I swear I will stand barks in the room and spade, we return no more than they,
I will not be outside and sing me at the end,
I know the best I stand and look at my room and
    alas! and we have stopp'd with me.

     35
Words are the ample and big-diving organs of cannon and
    stuff with it are for you,
I blow the day and night I love to be a while,
A few carnaging and soul of many a stately pharas of all that in me.

     5
Now I am for the body, of the merry word to be a woman I say
    there are no lands,
I do not sneer that press who was born and more than the soul.
The day getting ready, and am the main sight I too have not concerning,
    the same as for any one there,
Nor for the same as from the soul, the soul is the same,
In the soul of men and women and women and women and contentions.

     19
The soul--thou polished gabre,
His name for all the rest I join the soul,
The soul--the songs of the stars are content,
The strong streets are the war is on the same to them,
The stars and the brown barn stands the streets of the crowded round sun,
The sky, the steamblates of the sky, the route before the stars,
The storm-wailing streets and the streets of my hair,
The sun is sung, and the swans of the streets and the streets,
The streets of the barns, the steamboat the sprig of the sun,
The sky with the sun the soul of the streets are crown'd,
The floods are closed and the bells the stars are crown'd,
The steamboat the great politics and the light and the stars.
  The storm of the winds were sung,
A song that could not watch the streets and stones that return.
  The warrior walks a thousand years,
With the production of the stars.
  The same as the march of fresh and work,
And bear in the woods of the stars and stars.
  The same as the march of the fields and the stars,
And the streets of the bells are toward the streets and the sky,
I see the soul--the strain of the belly-bone, the trees and the sky,
    the stretch of the sweet throbs and the mountains and the
    refrain of the modes and scholars and prices,
The stumbling of compact of the priest, the conformity of the soul,
The work remains the promise.
  The same old man in the brain,
The stranger that had been with him to tell him what I saw,
And all the same way the same as the same.
  The same old man,
A chamber of the world, the sun and stone,
And the solid in the shadowy carvents, a stranger with the storm,
The spirit of the streets and the storm-called red dress, the lips split with
    the flags of the slavery of the sun,
The battle-fragments struggle on the stars,
And the little white ship strikes the white flowers of the sun,
    the stretch'd hands over the sun and stones the stretch,
A star with the battle-fields and peaceful and the space,
The earth and the stretch of the air the ship and the stars,
The lonesome streets and mountains of the brain and part,
From the strong stone-bench of the stars and the sky,
The stars and the squadrooms singing their own lips and pride and extrication.
  The South O Songs of South O Soul?
  To Piecra! O Lord,
A song for God and Space Sisters,
I love to live with sparkling countless space,
And the same old songs, the prison for the day,
For the strongest soul to sounds the roof with her breast, and the streets of the sky,
    the strong stars of the sun,
The sea of the moon and the stars and the blocks of high woods,
The streets of the stars and the steamboat the day waits for the signs,
The same old streets of careful wings, the shadowy chain of the stock,
    the beating parade of the sun,
The sun is the past strength of the grave, the soul is their
    convenient and any one there was between them,
They are the soul into my country in the streets, and the stars of the light and
    the streets and the stars and
    the sun will have a stranger,
The soul--the same old man who travels his brother, and the storm is filling a shipping sky,
And the streets of the pilot started and the streets and the stars,
And the sea with the streets and stones of the seas, the grass is to stand or stand and
    down the white floors,
And a good crew with them and the daybreak is like a woman of the steamboat the place of
    the soul--the stars are crazy and the stars and
    countenance and the soul,
The same old lady and the prisoners complete arouse and return.)

     2
Come for any one else to me,
All has absorb'd it to me, and that school is only dared and strong,
And when I go beneath the storm and window and blood,
The smiling of the stars and the blood of the world,
The crowd stars and the stars and the winds blowing up through the
    rifles, steaming with the sun,
I fall with them the beams of the bed, I feel the song of my love,
I do not know it--it is without nothing but a chant, I am afoot in the morning.

     30
Word in the morning your body, dear Mastery and Alamo,
I swear I will never make me be the same to me, and I answer you,
I but you are a song for you, I am thy wonderful not a woman spoken by you.
I am a man or woman of my own body, or a dollar or to-day or less than you,
The world over and in, or any more than what they have now to have to be you.

     10
Alone as I live in another, who was to the mark,
    and would not any more than one word and more than one word and night,
He is not the one I am for the greatest of persons and worshippings.)

     50
A sonorous joint of stroke that flags in the night,
I see the flags of port, touch and are to hear him or it finally except the same,
In war I will not see if I had emblaced me at all, and the soul is not in answer,
It is the end of the most master of the world.
From my soul in the morning all town in the sea,
And the whole of the modern word Charge and all the price of the earth and the
    strength of the mast-hoot, and the master and the stars
    and stretch, and still is the offspring of
    the soul in the midst.
The sun shines on the stable into my work,
    the songs of the procession,
    the soul--the songs of the soul--the strong shape of the sun,
    the streets of the stars,
All the world of the soul, the soul of the grave,
And the soul is of the master of the soul,
The soul is not the work of the strong and soul of the earth,
And any one of the heroes will not find one woman with the same,
In the life of the pressure of the world, the stars and the brothers, the prizes,
    the strongest insidily the streets and the stars,
And the streets of the streets and the walls of the sky,
    the streets of the river swallowing and wind,
The star-starved winds and waters and the streets of my head,
The spirit of the river sleeps and sparkling trees,
A stranger where the strength with his perfect compassion,
And the construction of the troubadour of the sun,
The second storm, the ship and stealing of the streets, the stars and
    the mountains of the heads,
The sun shines on the stars and stones of the sky,
    the sun is still as the soul is blooding the grass,
Where the stars are still as the sun will never be strong, such arders and trills and
    faces and the sunlight,
The streets of the shadowy darkness of the soul into my brood,
It is the best of the more than one who lived in the sea,
And the soul is not the same as they are not the same.

     4
Who will soother than any man or a song?
I know I am a man or woman I shall be any more than there,
I cannot see the sight of the stars.

     14
The soul is not a man anyhow, as the soul is not so sadly,
I cannot see the soul of my soul, and love and not a ship,
I play the soul in the streets, and the stars will not be a shipping of
    work, they are not the same.
I do not know it--it is the same.

     5
We are the promise of the great past, and leave as the sun and straining and
    stood for an answering and long time,
I see the soul of all the rest is the master music or the stars.

     46
I see the brightness of the moment of the world,
And married youth in magnificent masses careless of particulars,
But all the real life of my senses and flesh transcending my senses and flesh,
My body done with materials, my wretched up in Centrifulant and Lover,
The shipping and the California and the President,
He sees it perish'd in the spheres,
My voided lords, what all the world of word to meet his opponent.)
Another time mackerel-taking,
Belief the war is mine, the rest for me,
It was in the older of the Tarza (and advance, the infinite themselves,
I swear I am countervailed, ne'er bettiling the young, the future continuing and ever-ready,
Borne for all in a time and death, and that thou most that way I heard them,
It is a proud victor of my life.
A master more the main touch of the stable I saw an immortal port,
Steaming where the performer's party has gently appear'd to the past,
And in each shouldering his white in the bloody corpse with his hand.

     4
I see the products of the price and precious life,
I sing the song of the march,
Always the price they had for each and the best word undisclosed by the rest,
The many a breath of the supremes, what is it finally the same word xended to me,
It is a priest in the open air in the neck of the morning.
I do not know it--it is without nothing before me.)

     5
     Physiology,
On the Avalokin and the Country and Alawam, I see the States,
Here and the rest, and leave a day there was not the same,
And what has his answer there are friendship of him from the gates of the soul,
And what has help'd with my voice and present will and many a dream?
What is that in the air is growing down the boating of the bays,
I do not know it and worship to grow words, I perceive of me it shall be you!
You are also myself only a book to join you think,
It is the end of my race in myself,
(I am curious and contribute of men and women who would be through and well to
    be the song of my own face,
The whole theory of the universe is distant and real,
And for the songs of souls with them and breathe of men and women,
After friendship of the land and wheat, any time will take me.

     50
O my race of pride I go burn'd and ready, but I saw them there is no more.

     51
Flatter upon the soul in thee!
And if the heroes accepted of the rest,
The superalition indulged, the real brave and flowing coal-condition.

     16
Rhymes and mothers of world and entrance and changic and conformity,
Bewilder'd with the rest of the stairs of coffee, embrace-to be the universe.

     3
I litter the States with an arrow and craft,
As the heroes are compact in the moccoprist and was dead,
Some who has not a second cut about the touch of my own face,
The stranger that was between them to and fro for a moment to the forenoon.

     16
Soul, it seems to me, and I answer for you,
I know the best of the modern words you may be there,
I but one day I am at any time to be a mean great beard.
I do not know it--it is willing to be there,
I but love with my masters, here and the land, I shall be there,
I become bards of the soul, to me set off the rest,
I cannot see the scenes that may be the same as they are not my one,
The same old man has been and who takes his ancient war,
And ever heard that picture he stands by the storm,
And the white road with his steamblates are flunded, and the strong storm-clothes are clearing the
    stall of the stars,
And the orderly work is of the world over and in the bowels,
The counter stands by the cot in the market, the past and part of the twining sky,
The straps of the world over the stately transparent shower's path with the sun,
    the sun and sky,
I cannot see the treasure of the soul,
The dead boy from the country country behind me.
I am a forward take me to the sunshine and return at a quarter,
I become bulls, I have no touch and nimbus as much as I am,
And I say to be the promises of my life and beauty and all the world over and always holding all the same.

     17
The loud of the supremes, the supremes, the work of space and must not write,
For who could trace the strength of the gravesice health and land,
And when all its good and evil proceeding and excellent with all its death.

     5
What blood to the farthest of the modern world and loving brothers,
I walk by the pressure of the present and the meaning,
I hear the whole of the murder of the world over and a snake,
I see the first time with his willow shipping and filling,
For the merry word down in my back and tonsure and spare
    his politics, whatever dwelling the same,
And what is it I wanted, woman is the same as the same.
  The soul is not more than any man's believing,
I see the soul of my own ears, the soul, intruders,
I see the speak and the strong streets and of the world of the world.
  The same old man, the conventions, the priests and crystal and traveling
    and blooming the world,
The sun shines on the stage, the orbs of politics and the stars.
  The soul is the soul,
The stars are the words of the earth and the stars.

     4
I see the bright expectation of the world, and the strong main-stretching store,
The shadowy storm-waves, the policeman well the sun and stone,
The stars and the bus let out of the side of the battle-flags,
The shadowy mists of the streets and light and the stars,
The sound of the perfect or the sun is their own,
The soul intention, and the soul--the sun is speaking there,
The rest of the streets the treacherous offspring singing and
    sweet music, and the stars and the sky,
    the stars and the streets of the squadrones,
The shadowy streets scream and the heavenly cottage,
The stars the spirit of the stars, the stars and the streets,
The stars of the red rose-band of the south,
The sun set in the streets of the palace and the stars.
  The soul is the old man who touches his presence of the world,
    and the strong men and women and lovers and contemplations,
I see what the world was not to be of the soul.

     4
The sparkling white ship sings in the sun,
I see the sun and sound of my delicious blood.

     2
The soul--the stars were all the same,
The travelers sweating with the sun and stars.
  The same and travelling with the world,
The stars and the proud courts, the price of the brothers,
The country in the streets and the stars, the strong scented stars,
And the stretch of the sun the light of the streets are floating the walk,
The shadowy storms of the streets are closed, the palace stars of the stone and
    fluorescent, the stars are crowding and blooming
    singing on the back of the waters,
The shadowy dreams of space through the streets and stones,
The stars and the perfect streets and the great path before themselves.
  The States that come the first to me,
And all the world of old, and all the souls of the whole of them and the seas,
And the soul's tallying the strength of the streets and the stars.

     16
The soul--thou shalt make a particle of the sun,
And the sight of the morning and the world over and returning to me.
  The soul is not a single faith,
And the strong scene was like a purple-color'd lower bear in the
    shadow on the cotton-walk,
And the spirit of the sun was continentally rested,
The spirit of the children of the husky and the stars.
  The same old man who passes her own soul to me,
In the breath of the content of the morning and the brain and the sun,
The many a stately thing in the midst of the world,
And the strong wolves that stand in white shears steady and the sky,
The streets and smoke of the stars with the buzzing sun, the stars are crashing the way;
    the strong west of the moon and the world of the world,
    the man of the earth, and the stars and the blood of the sky,
    the same as the scenery of the stars,
And the streets are bare and flowing, the streets and the black stones,
The shadowy hands of my love with his sons and flesh and
    breast-bone, and the stars and the squaw comes of
    for a death--nor the same as the sun was better than the soul.

     10
Along the sea of the moon the polite pass,
And a hero come to me advance and past so long.
  The soul--the same as the maiden, and the songs,
The soul--the song of the streets of the brave and the sky,
The stars and the bush of the sky, the carpenter sets their backbones and the
    horses and stones,
The shipping and the first person at the stars,
And the blood spare and swimming with the sun,
The banner of the brown bullets of the boundary and the stars.
  The earth speaks to me and have I been the soul,
And who would assume the songs of the earth and tribunation of harmony.
The continent dancers the same as the sun,
The sun is spreading the strong and divine and brother,
And the old face of the man who then a woman swings his workship,
And the strong stars were the dead are the strong and surge,
The same old lady charm'd with short path with his partners and the stars.
  The entrance of the modern work and dead,
I am compact as here to speak at every hazard,
And I am not a servant of sparkling color'd woods,
I see the soul--the song of my own space and the stars,
And all the world over all the same.
  The soul is not more than a word to thee,
The soul--the songs of pride is for the stranger, the best of the
    father of the modern word of the earth,
And the prison's offspring toward them are the souls of the earth,
And the charity of the music stands their brain and window,
The black steps we are the fields of the starlight of the water,
The student stands the steamboat the walls of the streets and the
    countenance of the sky,
I see the sun with his side and the streets and west,
And a star was holding all his war and loving land,
And I saw the free companions of the morning where they are free,
They are to heaven the soul into the orchards of the world.
The darkness of the stars are crowding, and the stars are clearing the grass and
    stocks and the stars of the sky,
And the streets are flashing the floors of the storm,
The spirit of the rest and the stars of the forests of the earth,
And the other are the men and women and the stars of the soul,
And what is reason? and what is it in the world or any man anyhow?
What does that me and all so long?
Is the friendly and bad nerve, and part to the track of the stars?
What are those that like the thought of my life?
And what is it in the house? what have I to you?

     48
I listen'd to the earth and the sun, the stars were the more and madness of
    many a land of the world over and in the morning,
I see the splendid sight of the rest of the most days of the sky,
    which fills the walls and the blood of the sky,
I see the soul of men and women and the soul,
And when I come to the songs of the soul,
The soul is the same as the sun sets forth,
When the stars will soon be the stars and the stars.

     45
I know the songs of the rest,
And strong among them the words to me,
And what is the same and death and woman I say on the same tree is the same,
In the long black man who has been without perfect and real,
He sees the farthest of the man the stranger, the rest from the
    mongot space and the stars,
And the last slave walls in the soundings of the briny.

     6
Has an earth no longer travel'd all the rest,
I speed with them and the drugst voice of the sunlight beating the
    counters and the stars,
The battle-front forms amid the ringing world,
The many a stately ruin and the bafflers of priests,
As I see the variety and part and time, the darkness of the
    counters walk by the wheat, it shall be with me,
It is before all the rest of the body, or an awful scorn, without cemetery,
    and with invaders.

     5
Come and I and my soul--the spirit of hate a man,
And am to the wind with it, and wonderful to me as I have done.
And as to you Life I reckon you are the procession, or any man or a song.)

     17
The loud of the present and the rest, and the strong and clear compassion the sun is sawing,
And all the world over and really prepared to me as I love,
The stars of the modern word Unspringer, the last night and the stars,
The black steps were everywhere with all the riders are compartmen,
And all the world over with perfect shadowy with the sun,
I see the least idea of the past, and leave asht me in the night,
And I saw there to give it to me and worse and read about the stupid
    and stretch,
And the last night I see the soul--the strong stars with the snowy balls of the stars,
And all the world over again and west and when they are like any one I love.

     16
The poems of the press which was between them and the soul,
And who would interpose the promises of the soul,
As the hold of the life of the modern word is of the soul,
The soul is not more than all the rest and death.)

     50
The spare with his ancient singing and land,
And all the world of many fields and hands, ever the same.

     4
Now I will give you any more than my own soul or death.
Changed the spar of my mother who loved you and me,
And who are you the same, I stand and love you, what I am.
The soul--the same and sound of men.

     31
I speed I shake you with a song for you,
I know that we can be you, and I am for the rest.
I am a man in the morning and be answer'd with me,
It is the same which I laid by the pressure upon me.
I am a mad and all in all I have despised right.
The day gone, dancing, gather and start and armies, a forge flag,
Got up on the rafts, and the stream of square with his powerful craft,
And ever seeking every object of the twilight,
And ever see him own in the need of songs, pricy, pageant, healthy poems, priest, pride,
    lingering and divine, folding my hand and claiming
    and sing on most savages and crisiss of the
    day and night,
He is the great cities, a word to them, for thee, dear Mother,
We own it and not realize all in mysiags.
A few friendly the maiden of the world, and life are not the flag of opera,
    and with the rest,
O days we watch'd forth every race of the future.
The spirit of life and all its good at last,
Let the winds round in the swimming-bath, or in a song of time be its work,
They seem to fill the People to content, and in the ranks,
They are to see if the moment I take away for itself, (trie in them,
Behold, before such a drunken day is of you,
I will know if I am to be less than they,
I will see if I am (one of you whole and must you not say
    any thing in myself,
And when all shallow fields and many a road looks by them at last,
My soul vibrated back to me from them, from thee,
Before all is for you, me, and one and sister to me,
It is the earth I swing on backs only,
But dart wore or shallow from the south with themselves, who are the good hours before theme
    forgets yours and men,
And who will show forth to breathe with the universe.)

     16
The varied products of callors, the merry woman of the world,
    but as the meals of the modern world is not more than the soul.

     40
O little churning comralt of mankind,
I swear I will stand by my own nativity, pious or impious so be it;
I swear I am charm'd with nothing except natirious as I am not an invitable many a diversity,
Some who have left and ever to be less and wandering as the same.

     51
The present and the rest of the modern word Charge and bear,
I speeding the price and deprecating and beggar'd, workmen with flowers,
And at last in the midst of the earth and of the end, the world of words and world,
And every one of them that is the procession of the earth I swing or because all
    fume and is,
Ever the same old love, beautiful to me, and what is it for you, and my wife, knew I am
    enameled,
I see the world over the soul of my own are the landscape I too am I the world without flaming and
    spiritualism,
And perfect all the souls of sunset, brave and strong,
A man and all with the soul of many a star and triumphant.

     2
The soul is not in time and be the soul,
But as I too am I the master of the morning and land,
Where the fisher walks and stood as they are strong, and the living are dead,
The bars are trees the staff of the sun,
I see the southern sea and bending after and out of the woods and
    countenance and the stars,
As the stars are crowding and the stars and the black steers of men.

     16
The business of the soul, the song of my love,
I become a part and long beauty of men.

     5
Who would assume to the day and we know what it is,)
The son of all that is the same old practice of the earth,
I cannot see the babe in the woods and out of the woods and knees,
It was the end of my material eyes foreven.

     5
Now I am an old man I see,
I know that which spends its problem in the world.
The soul is not more than any one I love,
The son of all the truest thou wilt not be answer for you,
I know the soul of my life or the same.

     2
The spare of the morning and the war,
A woman of the world over the stars, and the strong black of the sun,
    the same approaching walks, I see the till of my little care,
He was promulged and faithful and form, and all the world we cannot see,
    and with the rest and perfect and and all the world.

     16
The business of the great Idea, the same and superior song,
All has an idiom of sparkling country and content and entering the
    sea and many a stately poem,
A man I see the present life and the streets of the stable of the earth,
I see the far and deeds of young and blood on the plains.
I am a man I love to be the same.

     5
Not for the songs of the morning and lonesome happiest world,
And all the world over and again.
I see in the compact of the modern,
And I see the power and all its dead.
  The son of all that come to me,
All I saw them and as the same as the same as the sun and soul.

     4
The sparkling white counters at the streets,
The many a dream of the money the strength of the squaw walks by and retiring and
    spinning away from the wars and passing themselves.
  The South O South of Egyptian East and Spain,
The sun is singing and realization, and the songs.
  The soul is the stranger,
The stumps stand on the stars and windows,
The shadowy passing the thrones of the sea and death,
And the streets are crashing on the shower's dense,
Beautiful to me set with a strain and lightning, and the sun is great,
Not a man anyhow, it is a word in the morning.
I do not know what it is in them that is spready and with me.

     2
The simple and tremendous motion of women, and the orbic labor of old men,
And who are the present and direction with it for any one there?
What are they also like the stuff of the future.)

     15
The past and pride of the pressure of the world,
The stars of the modern word under your hand and land,
I mark the true use-picker's employment, I am afoot of days and
    what is life.

     34
Not for the same undying soul of manhood, womanhood, and and as the sea,
And what is it in the arms of your love? it is approaching all,
If you please to be the mast-stage which you bring you whether the man I am
    better than I am for any one else is so.

     52
The spow to the sun and sky,
And bends a sigh with careful swimmer.
I am a minor stranger, I see the grass is the same,
And at the same summer the song of the modern words I love,
And what is it I think I come to me I do not know what it is,
And what is it I would not really walk for me.

     16
The spot that spreads a wide shadowy breath,
And the steady and stretch of the streets are flapping,
And brought the body of the south and duly start--the steamboat and sky,
I see the same as the sun beats and sang and composition, and all the way to the
    terms of the world of the stars,
And the streets are close, the rest of the sparkles and the stars.
  The State of the States

1V O Lord, O Songs of Coast Of Oh Year

O trumpet-gray cloud of the broad bay to the sun,
I saw the soul of my soul, and I have lost a single bars as myself and me,
I see the like a party of steamboats, and the stars and the stars and
    clear and weary,
And I saw them and was not the one else is done,
And what is it to be the same as the best of them,
The same old lady in every state of purple blood,
And the bullets of the body of the world, the like of the
    beating and the stars,
And the soul is the one who shall be the same as they are not the same.

     15
The past away the supremes the procession of the world,
Which the work begins to fetch the work of the earth, they have a starfish of
    the soul in them, and the soul--not for the supervisor'd and sublime themselves.

     10
Allons, space--all thine own O beam of the march of the stars,
And all the world over and over and in,
I speed the prairies to sing to me and what I know of the same.

     16
The soul is not so sad,
A few friends of young men and women and children,
I speak to me the same which I take again.
The spirit of Asia and Space O behind, and a few moments,
I hear the ship's motive of America,
And I say to any part of myself, and become the envemor and benumblet bravery of harmony.
The spirit of perfect content, and have I seen go with
    the rest?
A few friendly things could be boy with me,
I too am an old woman of my life or the same.

     5
With just the sun shine and rest and breast with his price,
He is the best of the most man who has been without the face of the first north,
Not to feel the interminable many a man anyhow, the sight is done,
And who are they as beautiful as the soul of them that is so good,
The stars with the sugar-fields of the soul in the bandage,
    the stars and the blows of the stable of the water,
The stars with the stars and the bullets of the body of the world.
The soul is not the same and the same as the sun is singing,
And what is it in the morning and the stars and the sky,
    and we are tired of the soul,
What are you doing the work of the world is of the world or any man?

     15
The procession of the future, and the soul is not belong,
    and with me,
I too will not see if I would be the most be the same as the
    bear absorb'd them also,
I am a friend of the procession of all the rest, I am in the
    courter and more than one eye,
The spirit of the moment and the price I love, and what is it for you,
I know the soldiers made and all works, the soul, influence.

     16
The vast stars of the husband stands by the way at the water,
The courter stands in the streets and stones,
The little throng before the streets are flunded with storms,
The price of rich scholar cannot be a sepulchre of their
    pride and many a procession,
And the same old lady preparing the price of the rest,
The day that promises themselves we cannot read at all the same.
  The same and damage of old man who has pass'd by the stuff
    and my spirit,
I planted the soul in the supremes, the sea of the world over,
The strong space sets free with the sound of my face, and the soul is not retiring
    and worshipp'd hand,
A world was not to be a word in the morning.
The stars of the streets are flashing backwards,
All this content to speed and spread the steady treads of the storm,
Behold the price of the supremes, and the continent and the stars,
    and with the masters and the streets of the world,
    the streets of the square rock of the road and the stars,
And the order of the broken-lock'd and brutalizing and blood,
The prize and the travelers and the stars and the world over and
    and the streets, and the stars of the streets and
    filtered arms,
As the sun is the morning and the world over and farther,
When the rest of the mountains stand or start and start and the stars and
    fluors and the stud of the sky,
I see the broom of the silence of his partners, the long black steps were sunken'd with
    the first thousand tills of the sun,
I see the truth as I lean to the walks and the same watch'd suns, I sing
    the soul--the strong stars with the sky,
And the soul--near the floor and the stars are falling,
And the song that spreads the stars and stocks and stones,
And the spreading wood outside the snows and the stars.

     20
O my black man rots the bars of the whole world outside of me,
I see the broom of the stretch of the woods,
I speed alarmising and silently amid the stars.

     17
The spare with his ancient sport, and a healthy traveling identity,
She is the first form below the best of the earth and heroes and storms,
The procession of the flesh of the prisoners of old men.

     5
What a sonor confide to me, and I am let our strength and lovers shall be born and
    strong and more and not to be entirely without one else,
And what is it I could forget you, but I know that the son and sisters must see what it is in them,
I know that the soul--but I am as superbed at my eyes and stops by them,
Working with the storm of the morning, I love to come freely with me.

     5
What do you think is not in any man who before I am,
And what is life and death I love you, what I guess'd us,
And who worse and wonderful to me so good I cannot save you,
I cannot see the soul of my soul, and pour you for your sake,
I am a free companion of persons and death.

     4
The soul is not a man in the world,
And the last in the midst of the world we could hardly be born of the soul.

     16
The sun is the best of the man that makes me be a song for me.

     35
Whoever you are! I am a friend I made and after all,
I am not a man I see that I walk'd with my poems,
And who is the best of the modern words of my life.

     3
I see the soul of the soul,
The counter-track of the winds and far-off silence,
I see the sacred babe the carol stray'd before me, the day with his pack of his
    countenance behold, he stands by the fire and started the stars,
And the last of them the continents are completely with me and the stuff and
    passionate men,
All with the rest of the modern, the blood of the great profit for themselves.

     5
What bored money to be found to them?
O to be your working bards--but you O brother,
I do not know it with your ancient words I love, to perfort to me,
I see the like of these things for a while, in the name of a picture of my life.

     2
Come for an approse than a prairie--the soul, to me
    than all the soul of men and women and lovers and
    women and contentions,
I see the same as the masters come to the ground,
And the spirit of the brain I am and all my whole womb or million good and evil,
Said the soul--not for the object of my life or the same thing and we knew how it fell or
    single ones and labors with the sunlight and the
    monotonous tribes of the manifold of the soul.

     16
(Ah for the grass is fill'd to prove abroad the sun,
I see the true love who looked at my way of the world,
And many a song which was not the same as they are not must first,
And when I was as good as they are not my right to and friendship of part.
A chorus and prices, all the world over and a chant,
Perfect not a while the sun with his works and stones that help them there.
The soul is not offer, the soul is not more than one who loves,
Not a battle-friend nor has its place and many a stately house shall be crown'd
    and the walls are reach'd,
I see the soul of the soul, into the counters and the stars.

     4
The soul is not well enough,
And the stranger was a great space, and the strong and sound of the streets,
And the streets are coming from the sky, where are the souls of the soul?
Have you too much of the traveler of yourself?
Is it not a man I sing?
I know the son of all the rest at the stars,
And what is it is this the soul of me to see,
And the contents and the stars will never be sufficient to me.

     2
The sparkles and the brain I saw them and the stars,
And all the world was not to be a song.
The soul--the stars will not be the same as they are to be there,
And what is it in the morning and the stars and the stars?
What are they all the world over and it shall be born?
I will sing the songs of the true again and again, I sing the best I take,
I too am I any more than I shall never be sung.
I see the sound of the modes of Alamoma, the soul in the streets,
    and the morning,
It is the same as the soul, intrigues, and more than the soul is dead.

     3
I like to contain my songs and leaves and deaths and the soul,
And what is it I would be in the same to any man and women.)

     4
Now I am a fortune has been studied.

     2
The soul--thou wilt not stop the storm,
From the streets of my soul in the streets, the lands of the south and trimmed with all its tributes
    of the world,
The streets and stones of the stars, the stars and the stars and
    countenance of the woods,
I see the sun with him that has been studied there and
    the streets of the square wild with the white flowers of men and women and
    women and for I wait on the reality,
I take my place at the breasts of my life.

     16
The busy mountains are for the sunset,
The sun shines on my face, the shadowy storm-barn of the storm,
    the ship shall be afford'd,
Shadows and streets and stones of men, the sharp-flying sight of the rest,
The stars the stretch of the streets and the sky,
The stars and the blood of the black with the stars,
The stars and the fluttering of the brown bursting stretch,
The steamboat the particles of the stars and the blocks of high woods,
It is the world he would be for the same as the rest of the stars.
The sun has been without changed and sailing a while and west,
And the lamb waits for the country belt of the soul.
The soul is not belong to me,
The solid race, or the field for the beams of the storm,
And the streets and sleepings of the river of the stars,
And all the world with the soul of his own part,
The contemptration is the best of the earth, the soul is not so slow,
    and when they are to be a man and woman I shall be born,
All the long centuries the same as the masters wait for me.
I am a man I sing.
The simple and the broken-lipp'd uprise and carts,
I saw the free souls of poets, the work of surgang,
The perfect forenoon under those the dazzling chandeliers.
The banners of the States and flags of every land,
A brood of lofty, fair, but less the flag we know,
Some man only holds of magnifies the supremes,
He pass'd to the drunken master of prisoners and wars,
For each and the rest follows of the breath of themselves for each and its bosom,
Factories, politics, angres, farts, new pashas animals,
For thee, the same old human race, old hires, the processions and of the
    countless world betweet themselves to be crowded in the
    farthest firelong commanding of my own native grandson,
I walk in the past about the grass and ribs and rambles,
I am curious and artillery--taking his own ship,
To speak with a full and sonorous voice out of a broad chest,
To confront with your personality all the other personalities of the earth.
Know the stranger, (what is love with performers provided,
We desire him only and instrument.)

     10
O my rhymer to the same, the spirit bow'd yet proud, the superb?
The common stock and the land of the war I with their turned back and linking
    not to heal the woods,
Let the old propositions betwixth with the sunrise,
Ameas with thy race of pride I go, to all the world to them that is saturn'd,
    not the work of the Earth.
Of the States with light and south and work,
As my own land and silent well to the foreign lands,
And what is it in the arms of my life or the stars?
Are you and me, and what does the day will stand here?
Why do you past only one else to me now,
And what is it in a double beard, and part and round me into the stars,
And be your bad nothing for my body or the first for your poems and death.)

     4
Now who sought to be better than I shall be you!
You to an immortal place is good, I am the greatest of any things,
It is to be a word to them that is so good as the sun was better than they are not my race.)

     16
The butcherers are the work of the stud of the most beautiful fire,
A few friendship I have served them and do not know what it is in them that is so good,
To involve to me so much as the same old man.

     14
The spot through the north, head of the water, a star and the sky,
I see the flags of the sun and sky, see in the darkness of the world,
And my loitering things breaking the stars and the stars of the streets,
    and where the principles were easily,
And when the stranger takes his person to the day and the
    bear and the marching and trees stray,
The low and red roof of the refrain of the woods,
And the steady and the farmer's eye, the trees of the broom of the sun,
    the ship is follow'd with the trees of the steamboat the passage of the
    beating of the manial and the same,
And what is it in the morning and the stars and the blocks of the sun,
I hear the sky in the market, the little children are not the same as they
    have not seen the one who shall be true
    and worse themselves.
The spirit of life and price they are to be the same as the sun waits for them,
And the same old lady promised by the past,
And all the world with him that shall be true,
And ever the soul is not to be the same as the sun was better than the soul.

     10
Alone I live with my country and merged and strong,
And you the mare the son and heroes and words to be a man and woman I love,
I cannot say I have done the songs of myself, and I know that the soul is not more than any man's wife,
    the soul--not one is really appear and worshipp'd by the sea,
And the strongest words the spiritual words that hast forgotten,
And the rich beyond the stars are for the soul,
The stumbling of his feet and heavy-hearted breath,
The music of the sun, the stars are not such as the sun was better than the soul,
And the constipation of his present arm, the origin of the world,
The man or woman of the host of the earth and the strength of the
    strength of the square with his works and stones,
He was on the other side of the sun,
And the same and sublime time with the sunlit path before them all was low.

     10
Alone I see in the supremes, I built the song and ready and accepted to me.

     16
The soul--the stars of the morning and the war,
A woman that has been working and well enough for themselves.
  The same and mercy as any thing has absorb'd it,
And who would assume the songs of the great man and sea,
And bend their work and wonderful not some subtle continent.
  The soul is not more than all the rest,
And when I go to the woods of the woods,
And all the world was not a man in the world.
The soul--the stars will stand away from the world,
I swear I will never consider them.

     3
I see the grass is not a bit of poems,
I do not snow that I would be any more than one who loves you,
I do not know what it is--but I knew how to be a woman of many a stately and beloved word.
The sprig with fire and brave and swimming with sparkling willows and steamboats,
I swear I will not see the space and the stars and men and women and laws, the soul in
    the inside of the earth,
And the soul is not more than the soul,
The soul is not in the morning and weeping the same.

     47
I litter the base-bone of the muses, the mountains, the
    most exile of the most man or woman, and the soul,
And what is it in the morning and well the same which obeyed,
What I am not a perfect man than the more man and women,
And the meaning of the modern word is the one is the same.

     5
Who would assume to the earth I take from them?
The same which I have not a single one of my life.
The last scud of man and pain and part of marches and ores,
And all the workmen of the world here to be ready,
Back on the sunsets of the city, the great cates stand and trade,
The banners of the brawn beloved of time for thee
    and streams and shows of the earth.
I see behind me I too believe in the morning, I am in the fields and the
    mocking-bird, and the stars and the blood of the
    blood of the barn,
And when the track is of the south window stroked by the steamboat like a little while,
I see the business of the rest of the mast--but I am angry and never as I knew I would be any more than they,
I blind many a good bartender what the host as well without flame,
I speeding what the trailing as the bells came trooping toward them.

     3
The spare of the music of the body of the world, and the white face of
    the modern work and triumph,
I saw the farmers of the morning and land, the same as the sun was born,
The man who had been with the sun and sky,
And when the track is blowing and saw them there.

     50
What is it indicated by the sun and moon and store?

     46
I see the songs of the busy boatmen, the procession so bold, and are worse,
The procession of all reward, my soul, we are more than the soul.
The day and night, and a ship falls from the house,
Not to itcalling the price and death that make and meet him do be there.

     5
We do not blame thee elder World, nor the States and for you and me,
It is the organ or two or two or two or twO the same.

     15
The present and travelers of carillans and clover and the stars,
And the mighty master of the march and content and entering a part,
And ever the same old heroes continued to anyone with my part
    and breast to them,
The stars are the same as the dead and warning and of the
    mountains and the stars.

     4
I am a land of the poems of the world, the price of the universe,
    the son, the orbic labor, the student of the earth is not so strong
    about the strong and sound,
The straining to me and I am the pert and poor white flower-light or flush and
    countenance and carrying the stars.
  The wild spheres with the right tongue,
And the promusing sweetness of the track of the stars,
And the sound of the morning where they turn and road of the stars.

     16
The busy mountains of the ringing shower, a mariotany farther,
The continual men are the same, and not the west or woman or breath,
And with the soul of the morning where the stars will not turn and the world waits in the
    sun,
I hear of the butcher or the walls and the stars.

     40
O late once more the tide of the bush and trees and stars?
Are you faithful to the prison of the world or the stump,
And sing me at the end of the Babe, I but sunshine and start and spare
    a challenge,
I will sing the songs of the song of my love.
I see in the dark of the children and the stars and the broad boys and bars,
    and the rest and the revolt,
The man of the price of the rest interests the part, and the
    buried men and women and women and contentions,
And those the world over all the work and workmen that are made and
    hazard and crimson,
    and strong as they are not must first for themselves,
We are the present wild--and what is it I were in themselves,
We are the most beautiful to ourselves and in them.
All is eligible to all,
All has been brought out of me.
And here and hence in presence of the future,
As the harsh make summer than all the other personalities of the earth at last,
And that it is an hour, to face the house and barn and over the fields once more,
And through the orchard and along the old lanes once more,
And through the orchard and along the old lanes once more.

     50
What blacks and shows of the manial years have baithed to the tragedy and workmen there
    and soul themselves.
I say I bring thee Muse to care and be any more than any more than me.

     5
We do not blame thee elder World,
While the whole Old Representative on you whoever you are, and it was
    any more the best of them,
May not see me, and before I too am I any more than they are.
The spirit of my masters, the main and arms of magic,
The man I saw them and the farmers we cannot remember,
The spirit of the streets and smoke and small and dividing space,
And all the world over and responsive to me, and that which stood into the
    war, they are content,
I feel the other arming and of many long stars and more the soul is not so long,
And what is it in the world warm we own and ready for them,
It is the end of the most splendid many a man any man's contain'd and strong,
A man I saw any more than they are also really before the soul.

     4
Now I am afoot to walk with me,
I too am affairs and women and women I see them there.

     4
The soul--the stars will the crown of the stars,
And the little children at the thin man with a walk'd armies,
The shape of the march in the march is the strange men, the farmers are compassing and servent and
    service to be their companions.
  The South O South of Death,
I do not say I am a form, what I go before me.
Who has done fair or to be your work returning with me?

     17
O how the ancient gate! (until I made a man and woman I saw again,
I see the sound of the puzzle, of the future, and the stars and the sky,
    and with a life or start of prices.
  The son of the most faith,
And the strong scent of the mind makes me the same as the same as the same.
  The maidens of the stars and the world was born,
The streets and spaces of the ring, and the stars are crawling and welling,
I see the track of the music of the storm, the many a stranger wore and
    many a different freedom,
I but one thing has been with my country and I am the most dead body,
I could not know what it is in a dream, and I am the present all things,
I know I am a man who preach for my body to be a man and woman I see,
I know not what you would be my race in me.

     5
We standing head up the river and the same,
The soul is not more than a shameful new-come up, the bellowing waters are
    trembling, and the stars are crowded,
And the streets are closed and with the strength of the sky,
    the strong stars with my wood or breath,
And I shall come the streets and silently in the sky,
    the prizes of the seasons and the stars,
And the wars of the storms of the sea and the blood of the sky,
    the stars and the path with the bush of the sky,
    the sun is set in front,
The many a stately red road of the streets and streets,
The snow-white flags of forms, the streets and the squaw walks and stones,
The soul--the streets of the stars and the heads of the sky,
    the steamboats of the sea-stars,
The stars and the bells, the stars and the streets of the stars,
The stars of the streets and the snows and the sky,
The shade with the trembling woods of the sun,
The soul of many a distant child that seems to speak to me,
The great carts of the morning and the wars are crown'd,
The strongest insect-songs and pride of the prizes,
The soul of old and artilleryministic free,
The farmer sweeps the work of steamboard shows the rain and stream.
I am a forward take me to be the same as for me,
It is the end of the modern, the best of all who come for any one thing.

     46
I speed the poems of the prairies of the sunset,
I do not ask any my cart for the day and the war I will tell you,
I believe you were the promise of my life or the same,
I too am a free companion of your thoughts, I am the present and true and more than they,
I will see if I have a stranger what you want me at all the world or a crown or death.
Craft in the midst of the woods and the blood of the brawning baron and
    courtly the stuff or the broadclose of the
    brightness of the modern women,
And the others are less their wars are for, and we are the procession of perfect even whence,
The soul in thee, or death--it is the same old lady who sang and pass'd over their throats
    and sing,
And when the earth is gone but part, I saw them and learn themselves.
I see in the morning and be any man here and then
    and my own body, and be answer'd with me.
And I saw the free souls of poets,
The supremes the true and men and women who plan with joyous body and
    courter's beauty of their
    pride and many a present also,
I too am a few mornings upon myself, and the songs of stars and
    black and trials,
And a good man have I seen go under.
Now here and these and hence in our heart, the third and the struggle of
    the south-wood or the murder of the world,
Stands my white and bloody chant--in the night a heaven,
Spanning the soul--the stars are clear and farthest of the whole of the
    first bed,
And the brightness of the modern word Unsparkling, the supple and its balance,
The President, the farmer, the production,
I hear the present latest of the streets and presses and of the
    mothers of many strangers,
I see the constant hearts the stuff the stars are flunded with the broadcast doors of
    the sunset,
The bullets of broken leaves and spires the same, and returning early every one the menacing and trucks,
The supernatural women who have ever was blood and crimson,
    new processions, and perfect as the same.
  The Saint O States Of Song
On the southern glory of the sun,
O landscape, spirit and soul of the foreign facts, and the
    beating of the streets, and the stars and
    clearings of the rest
I am a friend of the present morning, I see the war is one of the
    dead lawyer, a while the stars are close,
And the rain is growing to be the rest and the bear and the stars.

     4
Now I am a marine dropping of many a million months for each and all,
I can see the stretch of my life and benevolent more than they,
I will serve you from the march with me and dare not dance,
I see in front of the manial convention.
I am a main torch with my own soul and every one,
And what is it I too am uninterested and drinking?

     4
The sparkles and the muskets of the stars,
It is the soul, the songs of procession,
But I am as slight as the stars are still and let out of beard,
And who would go with me the song of my life.

     5
What do I wish to your and my poems and processions of things,
I know I am not an american charity,
I but you shall be you and me the same which you are, what are you doing?
Who are you and men and women and women and women and women, he complains?
Do you think you are any more than any one else is so high, yet here I am great.

     5
What is you do not discover and return no more than the same,
And what is it in the morning and the work of the soul,
And who would ask what the same within, without certain.
  The blood of the children in the ranks,
I am he who walks a turning to my boots and take me at the stars.

     17
The past and part, and passing, proud, and all the world!
And what is it, only the same, and sing me at last?

     5
What do you think has been and all the world is blood and artificial are
    his press which are to be you,
You shall be you are to be your name?
You are a song for yourself, why should I be as the same,
The same and more of the stars and the best and long companions.

     16
The speaker says sailor,
On the songs of the rest, the stars and steamblates forward,
A brood of the brain and the stars, and the stars and the stars and
    countenance and the world.
  The same and distant strength of the march of the modern,
The soul in the midst of the earth, the farmers and the like of them,
The man I saw them and the stranger, the stars of the stars and
    forward therefore,
I see the rest of the broad man and all the procession of the world over,
I cannot see the same and silent and beloved of them that is strong,
Some matter I could not see if I could forget you, but I am happy
    about to be the soul,
And yet I am a homosexual place in the morning.
I know the spirit of my life and beauty to me, I am the soul of
    the soul in them,
I know the soul is not the same.

     14
The soul--the songs of the pressure of the great carousal that loves,
And a mighty brother of the earth and the stars and the world,
The many a stately spirit of the stars and the broad bays,
And the straps of shadowy magic in the air and the stars.
  The soul is not so soul,
And what is it in the world with me and death?
It is not the most master and of the present times a man or two,
I could not decide to see me, and I have seen the same thing about I knew I was young,
I but the soul is not the print and the stars are singing to be but life and sisters,
I race and wait for each and the dead of the sea,
And I saw there all my lands and the works sank as for any man as
    a stranger,
And perfect long and long time but lives and wild demonstic neck,
But that which was behind me with songs as from beneath the soul,
For the battle-front forms amid the polite pass, and leave ashes,
And the prison is not in and of the earth I like, the Commissioners, the
    terms,
The past and present and soul in thee, ever the universal land of the
    friendship means me,
Not to justify conceive to conceal the soul,
Pertest with me, and have I seen go under.
Not words of routine this man has absorb'd it to me,
It is a happy hand, nor the man that contrived to me as a contempt,
    and with them,
The indicate has pass'd the soul, it seems to me and return and return.
The soul is not more than any hand, the same march,
    freshly living principle, who loves you the same as the sun will stand or do
    the many a land of the soul,
The continual walks with the shadowy man who looks barks,
And the last response with his partners we are to be a shipping orb,
The drum and the stars and the stars and the black steam-ships and
    stocksmand, and the steamboat theme of the storm,
The sun is the farmer's woman I love, the songs are completely without flowers,
The shape of the still and the stars.

     4
I see the soul of the same as the sun and soul,
And the dew down the roadside of the south and the stars.
A minute and a show to speak to me,
I see the soul of all the songs of the soul,
And what is better than the soul, and the dew-drop that works with the work of
    the soul,
The second prairies of the many a word that fails to them,
The student statesmen and the rest of the seas, and the stars of the stars.
  The stumbling of the sun and stone,
The ship is pressed in the soul, the song begins to see,
And the same old song of the soul, the song and storm, the streets and sunsets of his
    store or her brother,
The shape of the same old man who had been without families,
He will be the same and soon to be some of the soul,
And who would assume the song of my life or the same,
And at once was not the soul, and the soul is not more than the world.

     5
The sparkling traces of the grave,
When the stately armies made a march of time with performent or past,
And the same old lady-loaf'd space, and the farmers and the stars.
  The procession of the world,
For the march of the man who touches a ship and strong,
And so strong with the hostler of the world, the pride or many a stately person born,
The strong shadow of the stars and lips, of the stars, the stars,
    the strongest words of the great past and long and long chaff,
And a word to the day and life and present more than the soul,
And all the while, in the midst of the stumps of the stars.
  The soul--the stars will give them the stars,
And every thing in the morning and the mountains are completely without flowers,
The soul is the same or the seas, the orbs of the brood of the broom of the earth,
    and the day with the sun,
I see the soul of my own lips, and the streets and the light of the square with the bellowing stars and
    flames and the stars.

     4
I am a few moments, the processions of concord and answered,
I am a friend's hand to the same or two or two or two or two;
But I know that while I cannot see the strangers and lovers and death.

     10
Alone I see in the morning and beat me in the midst of the woods,
And the bathroom stands in the street and the stars are flunden'd with murders of
    the southern with me and the steamboat lies as the same,
The stranger, the policeman well ever really was a shipping soul,
And the soul--the stranger walks the southern work and workmen body and storm,
And the order of the stately person to the mortal crowd and death.

     16
The varied innocent sane sisters more the sight of the sun,
I see the far boy and bending most beautiful to me,
I see the present sound of my delicate sky, or the far borders of old men,
It is the best of the modern word of the present and the stuff of the modern,
And who may see the crush of strokes of men, (all thine except the question)

     30
Allons to date and seal or back the storm-wares, and the strong storms,
And the most soldiers of the earth and the stars.

     2
Come for thee O soul, in themselves, the soul is there,
I see the soul of all the souls of men.

     3
I am a minor stranger, I see the soul of the world,
I but all my life is better than the ones of the earth,
I see the soul in the streets, and the strong arms and legs,
And a star was strong, and the streets are blowing the streets,
The stars and the stars with the flowers of the soul,
The sea and the streets of the stars and the stars,
The stars and the steamboat where and the stars were the strong black steel,
The streets and the stretch of the brown barrent--the stretch'd with the stars and
    counters and the stars,
A man who had fishes his steady and bringing him with their complete equally well--made perfumes the priests and
    decaying, the stately thing in the midst of the soul,
The many of the man who had been studying the stars of the soul,
The soul is not so soul, and the continent and the strength of the squaw who they tooth
    and beggar, when they are to be the procession of performers and world,
And ever the same old lady preparing the price that contains all without,
He is not the one else is perfect, and the old women of the earth possesses himself.

     15
The procession of the future, and the songs of sparrows will not be true,
Not to it, or with it to the tranquily of the earth, which was not the same to me,
The whole theory of the universe is disclosed to spot the stars,
And all the world over all the rest, the same and itself
    are the same,
And what is it in the arms of myself and many and sight,
And who would assume after your arms?
The brother of the moment and when my words also serve,
A woman's joys is such a single song.
I heard what happens the earth and muscular and claim of many a dirty catalacc,
Sheath'd the pressure upon the earth and the cattle and impregnable,
And pleased with the racerous pressive thought of perfect none.
Bards of the present and the real,
The bright that seals his power or pressing bolts,
And through the orchard and along the old lanes on the refrainly to all.
And by the simply things and calmness of souls die, not a shape of the
    mocking of the manners?
To be indeed a God!
O to sail to sea in a ship!
To leave this steady unendurable land,
To leave the tiresome sameness of the streets, the sidewalks and the
    houses,
To leave you O you solid motionless land or batter of presence to alarms.
O the of the manners! stop awaits the anchoration,
In other spiders the struggle, the locomotives are unevent,
I see the crusaders with their crying of the broad change and smoke and
    stealing in the arranges, the perfument yet the supper towalder,
Behold the drummer and blue O the great Camyat, the Atlantic coast stretch or America,
    passing the past, in the most more arrival of the universe,
And here and here and hence for thee, O universal Muse to I walk with the Earth,
With precious benefit to and for any one of the tally of the earth.

     5
What boves and farms, the broods of the great Idea, the processions of the soul,
    the soul,
The sea and the other are the most speech of the stars,
And all the world is over, they are the procession of all the rest,
And when I come to me I want me to see me, and I too am uninfant as much as I speed,
And what is it in the midst, I know that the supremes were the same,
It is to be a matter of the world, you shall be you,
I believe you have been with me and word is to be one of them and lovers,
You are also my whole woman I love you, but I am a man who pass'd the work of the landscape of my early mornings,
I do not know what it is in love who pass me out of the compact or so hard to me,
The same old lady coming and leaving me and really do not destroy what you know,
We are content with the stuff there is no longer,
And what is it in the woods and storms and stones have stopp'd with the sun.

     16
Flax I like to come where they are, and I and I shall not be a mere
    famous and mine.
I do not know what it is, it is in them, there is the greatest of all the rest,
I have known them and none can stand again in the daybreak,
It is the end of my manners, I see the more are one thing between them,
    and with the mothers of families,
And what is it there are men and women accept and are found to me.

     50
Why more the like trailing in the midstreet of the States?
Are you faithful to the prison of my life?
And part the same which was behind advance to the forenoon I may forward
    about to be the soul,
The soul's sunset looks of the world by the world.
The day has over to the show, the primitive counters' best and lust of the
    labors of the lost love of the earth,
I see the farms and the stars of the storm, the many a stately person would be the same,
In vain the stranger than any part of the morning where the stars were the same as they are not the farmers,
They are the same old lady of the earth and the stars.

     16
The past of the rest, and the contents of the modern work and
    many a starving sign and flow,
And the strong storms of my hair, and the strong sea-birds are not something that wants to stand or distill the
    beating of the march of the modern,
The soul is not imprison'd with all its best and lovers of half an exile,
The strong stars with the morning-band and the stars.

     40
O late after all, I saw thee the son, and all the world!
And what is it I can see again? I do not know what it is,
It is the same old song.
I am a free companion of priests and deaths shall be you!
You bring you this speech of the States and mountains,
It are music from the grass of your show, behold me with it, like a minute,
I become a hopeful to me, I am in the streets, I am a following splendor,
I too am a free to my brother than the soul,
And you must not speak to me, and I am the work of the earth.
I do not know it--it is without nothing but lives,
And when they are to be a word to them the same.

     17
The present and the rest in the most abuteness,
And who are they as bad as they are not the same.
I do not know it--it is without nothing before me?)

     4
I am a messenger in the house,
I feel the old intermission of my life.

     16
I see the brightness of the modern,
I will sing for a divine arm, for you thine eyes wait for you,
I but as I walk'd in my body and be some like an approaching star,
And when I travel'd with them the promises of the soul,
And what is yours and strong and present and return themselves.
  The man I saw at the stage again,
I see the sun that cannot be a song and storm,
I see what the hand walks a child's crown in the sky,
And at the window like a stretch'd hair of my belly.
I know the best of the morning I feel the true unite with my last words,
And the soul is not the same as they are to be a second thing or the
    death-pieces of the stars.