Why such harsh machinery?
Why, to write down the stuff
and people of every day,

I went into the tool shops
in all innocence
to buy a simple hammer

I was fourteen years old,
brooding, a proud of it,
slim, lithe and frowning,

Grim, and surrendered to their purposes,
their tangibilities of pulp or stone,
the houses, chairs and tables rise again—

The gilt girl said, And when we got to bed,he starts in pawing.    And he never stops.And nothing happens.    Are you drunk?    or gay?

Supine in silence, circled by his breath,
he sleeps with her whose unlatched womb
becomes a bolted room—

The central divide of the body is invisible,
only hinted in the dip of the back
along the spine, or the primal hair

Through hours of England, swift, my angel, go:
high above towns
and green enormous downs

We open on a mystery,
a riddle has happened, will happen, will happen again.

What’s the point of experience

Alcoholic dream 
That run him 
                   out from home