and here the Wheel
I see crowds of people, walking round in a ring.
The hot water at ten.
And if it rains, a closed car at four.
And we shall play a game of chess,
Pressing lidless eyes and waiting for a knock upon the door.
Well, that Sunday Albert was home, they had a hot gammon,
And they asked me in to dinner, to get the beauty of it hot—
Out of the window perilously spread
Her drying combinations touched by the sun's last rays
She smoothes her hair with automatic hand,
And puts a record on the gramophone.
O the moon shone bright on Mrs. Porter / And on her daughter
cracked earth / Ringed by the flat horizon only
HURRY UP PLEASE IT'S TIME
the violet hour, the evening hour that strives
Homeward, and brings the sailor home from sea
A current under sea
Picked his bones in whispers. As he rose and fell
He passed the stages of his age and youth
Entering the whirlpool.
you who turn the wheel
lines at random
--- On Fri, 6/3/11, Chokh Raj <[log in to unmask]> wrote: