I breathe the noxious air because it is there 
Set free at the last moment 
                                                           a green cloth folds 

Here the noiseless mind
Is like a quiet wind

You flop down into the personal
Like a triumph of years standing on end

 Innumerable scratches on the shore
        Like an old alley shot toward the stars

The weight falls downward of its own volition
Bringing to the ground its iron embrace

Like the stars
I’ve been wandering alot

A paper chair

So gay on your lovely head 
The hat cradles the specialty 
Of the house brand-new 

I was thinking where are we all going when we were 
Going through the snow on the ground, underbrush 
Beneath like the New England personality going 

On Sunday afternoon in Georgia I had nothing to do
So I sent myself back to Georgia underwater
In the traditional manner of the English