Mergles of contemplative work of night [Full Poem] [Temp. 0.720]

Mergles of contemplative work of night,
 	Her speech is still as our hate faces before the stocks are:
 	A grave I need not fail and longing on the same ass,
 	and all the hands of sky is warning where good
 	spells the silence in its ending of the universal land and I made a kind of world but invisible praise of course and cries,
 	and there are many a giant signal in the nearest morning when I am bad will sing
 	the cow with the crown with a warm lights on his way to the glass.
 	Grace was still packing out of the pot, snobes on the wall into a cheap oil of her books.
 	It was shoeting out of the air and left his pillows rolled out the door to the table after a cold small radio.
 	Although I remembered the other work of the failure of a fighter, and they got a real bastard to be in the morning, the last of the personal country of the philosophy that
 	crossed behind itching down carpets bent sidewalks and bolders they say about the many later, the order, that are in the direction but in a great minor that you have to hold it
 	itself and clear theirs without any new fire, and that think of dying there
 	and the concrete young woman that they were the time who would never
 	teach a few days and another. I wonder if I had no idea hard?
 	and it was sometimes there was a name
 	or the terror, the wrong one unknown
 	when the flowers are seriously and they want to boot and
 	change about ten minutes. there was a bad suburb still there was a stranger. I wouldn't hope to be a message to see charked his face.
 	I looked at her back for some millionaire, he got a quiet night a
 	turkey tooth for the sight of time. Blood and she was so talking about our land.
 	Rags, don't come down to the rock and white and young
 	glittering there. why do they leave him in the
 	face?
 	and he said, "you'll see you."
 	"he will all think about the bars!"
 	and she was a friend too and the girls were like that which takes the
 	speech. he asked.
 	"what are you going? why do you'd have any more?
 	perhaps what you did it in one of the states?
 	man, honey? you see, he was a Friday night I saw him and
 	if I walked off to a good man with them all over the bar.
 	the dog blows him up and we raised himself the world
 	and he said, "yeah, he's really some kind of
 	old man saying somebody helped me, all right, I don't like the
 	racetrack.
 	what the hell? he won't die in a
 	while the night is on the back and the garage while we're going to get the bars
 	after the stale heart, that happened to Ceilin and as he was
 	practicing his fortune.
 	"do you want is I, or that time?"
 	"I don't want your walked pink white brown check"
 	I don't like the world wanting to stay a minute.
 	and I went into a purple bed and he moved him out of the bottle
 	and there was a little black way a cigarette stared
 	and she didn't matter who was a perfect position;
 	the other total winking and the way they had a few
 	answers. there were nothing out there
 	and I walked out to be a man on the
 	train.
 	when she walked over and looked out again:
 	"no place to do
 	there were always there, or the Markin Strategrass?"
 	I told him, "yeah. I told him, the one we can look at me, "hey, baby, you
 	have."
 	and he said, "I'll go alone at your car."
 	"I don't like to be 3 time."
 	"goodbye."
 	"how about you?" and she said, "it's published, he's a crowwand,"
 	I told him, a great man the jock was made a truck of
 	bitch.
 	what the hell, it wasn't his electronics and he gave me the
 	candle of beer and said,
 	"you see, I see this morning after winning screaming?"
 	"I sat there let me from you."
  	I walked into the corner and slid her study and
 	he would have seven in a beer in the
 	and the two bells he's a ditch
 	at 2 a.m. away from the tiny house on the radio
 	and I thought it was a man walked over and
 	threw me in the front seat of a
 	small town with a fight
 	and then he's humorous and she was a
 	bit.
 	I walked off to her back.
 	he spoke for the poor jailhood, I wonder if anybody was
 	fightinate he would like, and I walked into the other thing of
 	white shirt trestles there.
 	I began to win
 	the small rifted bones.
 	they talked, they lived with a good lacket and wondered if she was
 	not so nervous, and I can't speak to dirty
 	photo.
 	I didn't see him, he said, I wanted to
 	know the other time. and I said, he said,
 	"I'm all right. they weren't going to tell her could never be surprised.
 	there is that or the way to her love mean,
 	I killed my friend, I watched my day or
 	like a can, boast your garage
 	and you moved into the coffee of your creak beer
 	and you come on from the bathroom and in 2 blocks
 	or spit it on a window, he's again
 	and it is an old man's soul
 	and I walked across the street and it was
 	just as rape and beer.
 	she was her secret speeches maybe he only happened.
 	and I looked at him alone in 1954 or 19 or 5 years old sugar
 	and at night I saw a note for something he had a day--
 	perhaps to read the streetcar and spoils to me
 	and he was disgusted in a strange song, they all was an old man unlocked back and
 	in a glass of prices, but I didn't want to get up to the world
 	and the last degreen said, summer and blood incessantly he was made in the morning, a dubiously
 	and now the pure skin wrapped me out a cheap dock some are two hot under-tracked games,
 	and he said but they can begin to believe that the next day was alive, she said, his wife I was
 	his thought. who wanted me about it all; a child that in reality was the
 	child pits of sometimes in the sunlight alone, Johnson was gone
 	and maybe I could still be the ladies of gold of
 	nights and shame sitting slowly and said, the first time
 	there is not wanting to death, my brother, have a writer?
 	when I asked me all the tanks of thoughts. I like the other bed
 	to do. why does it happen here?
 	she has a large experiment rage, maybe we are a
 	got small twined as the spider.
 	"he or I'll be fucked?"
 	"never, even a man had served across the sidewalk, face
 	to be a murderer, I thought it is the mail in his shirt--some pain no symphonie wasn't ever
 	doesn't anything to do our judgments, and that's better say,
 	but they said it was too many traffic lives in a
 	old lady and the employment is not in the hair who were
 	about locks of good with me all the other hearts that we suggested her for another
 	(one of the state of all my women)
 	who wanted me to make of him that he's born a cow
 	in the great secrets of 30 dollars
 	strong and memories in the basin screaming of straw a chair
 	it was always the steps to go on the table and the cheeked lot of Christ
 	after when you had some of the track and the next day was on a man said
 	the black satisfaction makes the books to play with the buker in
 	the machine ribbons of organ --
 	maybe their northers go when I cut loud to me
 	around the hands they made it
 	like to sleep and fell off.
 	so they were at me, and I wonder if I wonder, I guess.
 	we will ring them down. the goes can't
 	get back the bed in the closet across the
 	essence.
  	then I'll use a good woman
 	when I am warm will
 	think they were going to get drunk
 	or a clean man: it's like a
 	cigarette. there is the girlsome--my father is a long time the time alone
 	and my wife that had but being all right, I said,
 	I got the beer from the house, ballad, and it is hot and offered watch fellow scrawled tight
 	toward a piece of squares and the foliations scattered out of
 	the light window. I bell wander the flying fields and the drivers
 	and the heads of the best counter toward the first and the sunny wall,
 	now they had to walk out of my little Los Angeles.
 	I'm a nice day, the sidewalks come down
 	protecting to me, the stranger looked are:
 	the white man lay it in the table to me like
 	and then the maized fault
 	in the morning at 16 hor white flowers,
 	the wallpaper sent me the world glad to plead on
 	a bed, leaving me this in his books
 	or the first thing now, a man fumes, and the girls in the eyes,
 	and I wonder if that hell, I had no intense.
 	just the corpse was because he was painted the dollar when
 	he got out of bed and we were the secretaries back his psyched on a call
 	at Barneye to like it that he was the same as the sun like a big woman in the airport,
 	spilled a librariet again, first at a time, then he told me what it was
 	some smart in skinnack and he visited her to his pond, a
 	fellow still kept blue down.
 	he walks a doctor, but she was a hard grown figure pulled out my back.
 	I like. well, we got the rockets and ranks to come back and
 	asked.
 	"she write the night or somebody else. we're told, you
 	never knew you when it will be somebody
 	is about you. you will want to be yours."
 	"I am a place befitting me."
 	at her face in the street we walked out.
 	"I'm going to get buck and I'll be here. . ."
 	"yeah, you can't do it all your water."
 	I felt like he said.
 	that was stiff and I say, and I'd like to die in the
 	river. then he always been in the dark walls,
 	"I am going to get your name in," I said, "yeah, he said, sir, I've
 	got to do it every day. when I am old and suck my words, let's get my hand and
 	door, baby, it's like it wasn't                        , of his face. somebody went on
 	and the next story you've got his fairy to strange about the stomach
 	and it wasn't anybody and we were only better than it all was for.
 	                               the grave is locidating the walls and gutters
 	of the middle of my day of her self-shotgun when you do.
 	I have cried about the type of Attical Street and bad hair moves through the woods,
 	my father's first man had falled half and handed on me still
 	into a water searchless and interesting words in a tenancine of revolution and bright stroke
 	tears the port of some screaming the walls
 	the radio here is down the stage of dark camps we die.
   	I don't even probably do it, the wine got there before.
 	am I the last time for the track to them
 	and the sickle of the house is locked
 	to me what they were in the trunk,
 	and the dogs of the lockery little glint of
 	continents
 	and the mountains in their stockings and
 	sae crash failure of happy near their
 	cabin.
 	the artists are rested in a brush,
 	the storm was empty
 	that was like an air and thread
 	at Birl
 	and I thought I mean to figure
 	alone.
   	the sun perhaps and all we wanted to
 	close the room
 	and the many of it
 	was better some hunchelver when they
 	do.
  	he was a shipping
 	spider.
 	he was dead, I went in, half-drunkens
 	and no hair baby.
 	he was 20 years ago.
   	but I knew that the guy
 	was still must all match when he was the woman
 	she was there.
   	it was a man who looked at me
 	there is nothing I will yet tell me
 	a lovely one of his
 	body.
   	I walked down the granite with a
 	big wheel.
 	the next day
 	he opened the black gut
 	on the track and the simple
 	window
 	and the buttered gown
 	and the dancing
 	table
 	room thoughts, what
 	will turn
 	the dead
 	all the legs.