1

O enormous avenues of paying saints / terraces of temple: ¿what fate?

Brahma explains proverb pains. Pains of yr encore mime my village.

Me: yr souvenir of hours expressed & of sunverse flowers—the main

company south of our Paul / & us (in a carefree / super egoless way)

caressing about in the plains of posies. An envoy of scarlet pigeons

authors tons of my thoughts. ¡Exit! You one scene (seen) of dramatic

bits (& literatures) you indicate (head nod) richness / observe histories

& treasures of yr tragedies. ¡Voice the sweet! Blood is degenerate of

chaos. Is my nether-ant / auspice of stupor / where you attend

2

You inventor of nice militant arm(s) (& rice w/ chickpeas dipped in oxtail gravies) you sew who I precede. Musician mimes a work of bits chosen becoming (the musician) spitting out the love-clef. A present / gentlemen: a company against one sober cloud about assaying my enemy (souvenir) of middle childhood & the appendage arriving Sunday (polemics / singing six sinning voyages of bits [noses (a certain shine on which)] of my strength [face] against monstrous disappearance of comrades).

        No regrets.

        Outside my villa part divine gaiety: the air (sober of shit air / pool of cess) company ails strength actively my fourteenth skeptic—

        My way of skepticism neither abnormal as my work nor the feathers you devour (with temerity & blotto face) in my new book. You: merchant fowl.

3

In the green of infamy & dozen coconuts of world / illustrating a human comedy. In the cellar I open history. A bit of my face / inside Norway / remembering those women of ancient paintings. Caves. In the green passage to Paris on my sign of science classes—

        In the magnificent demure corner of the Orient between my accomplice (PLEASE THINK THIS NOT ORIENTALIST) works the moon illustrating my treatise. Tracing. The brass moon sang. A bit remiss. Neither mime (mine) nor sing cloud. I just really pass commission tombs. Could towers (rain)? Towers. Paying saints—O enormous avenues—

¹ hardly imagined sounds o’ sense
            may lead one to translate what passes unpassed
                   still
            since one can’t read the French one takes what
                   one can: