I AM NOT LOST
Along the way, running hard and
traveling warp, looking little back:
soldiers sailors, monuments and cars.
Cattle festooned with Blue Bonnet
ribbons, the old Lancashire guy in
humble coarse khaki. He whittles a
field like Tom Sawyer whittled a twig.
-
My own coat is dripping with a
lather made of eggs and ideas. One
point past another; leap-frogging,
I think, into infinity.
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