BLOWIN' MY SMOKIN'
CONCH SHELL
Beached miraculous and
credulous too,
I still avoid deciding decided things.
Cleanth Brooks and Reginald Marsh
and Edgar Allan Poe and Robert Louis
Stevenson and Hart Crane and Van Wyck
Brooks - all those old, wonderful American
names that weren't really American at all
are now but Americana for me and for you.
But where, oh where are Thorndyke Barnes and
I still avoid deciding decided things.
Cleanth Brooks and Reginald Marsh
and Edgar Allan Poe and Robert Louis
Stevenson and Hart Crane and Van Wyck
Brooks - all those old, wonderful American
names that weren't really American at all
are now but Americana for me and for you.
But where, oh where are Thorndyke Barnes and
Richard Haverford Moore? They are gone and
washed away, figments each and nothing more.
No matter, I move on : amid thundering Hudson
tides of Jane Street and Morton and Charles, and
even of Hudson itself. But really, what have we
solved if we walk to the wharf but to destroy it?
'Cynthia is the product,' I heard the old stevedore
say, 'the sole product of my own proud loins.'
washed away, figments each and nothing more.
No matter, I move on : amid thundering Hudson
tides of Jane Street and Morton and Charles, and
even of Hudson itself. But really, what have we
solved if we walk to the wharf but to destroy it?
'Cynthia is the product,' I heard the old stevedore
say, 'the sole product of my own proud loins.'
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