971. ANALYSIS

ANALYSIS
They tore down the house to the foundation,
hours of toil and play : every bush and every
weed I ever saw is gone. Nothing left but
grime and superstition. This is where I
used to be.
-
Herringbone suits and galoshes made of
rubber. Metal clips held onto one another.
-
The smothering of the century was
just beginning. 'Look, look, it's a
Sputnik in the sky.' No one really
knew what to say. Up high.
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The register of the key to
the music of the mind and heart,
I have heard-tell in distant
psych classes, is
the very same
register for
both.