had mymindnot come up
with this here
vaccine, whatwouldthatmakeyou,
wherewouldthatleadyou? ithink
not a sunnier spot,
getinto it:

grown spirograph whirrebounded
against
grit, spiral saws, some
sort bromstfeeling


yo u k n o w. . . ++. . .
granted something's are
combinations, reordered yous
(atleast from what you ought to be) and
sandwiched beings from aboveandbelow
the beast with two backs, brothers,
unfoundcousins fourth degree-
spattered together brickwall flowers
(and not sublimatedkimono) bluesand
yellows, all slowingdown to listen to oneanother
yes, passme in the street, youtouch
shoulders and say hello,
don,t
letgo until you've heardaword of your
party's
goodnews
and unclasp, always smiling
withyour shakinghands—

i should say hello only
to get you to
let me go. the thingsidid
foryou, baby. thethings i did
for you ding boy--