137.
Open door frog croak man lifting
lumber
longer than I am this matter I uplift
subtended by substance the soul
unveils
the Middle Ages never ended the
pilgrims saunter
all the kings of earth still fail
their pentecosts
only the beauty is missing the
flowing spontaneity of stone
Autun, we have our weathers too our
smooth
flaming sunsets in suburban prose
will the sun on the sea be enough for
me
sit on the ground and let the world
tell
all your talk is reference book and
parliament
what your body knows only body can
pronounce.
