hullo sir, is it?( yes)
I’s outside the stall
counting, in this eve
the sum of purchased
baccy & gum, of he us
this waking winter
won der of ‘get spring
out of bed, y’fiend’—his
soft ice cream vanilla
face toward & past &
in front of me floats is it
I please can to chase.
no more separated us
than seven yards; where
I sleep you read winter
through summer as
colourful seasons go &
here is I is you is me
can we chase
each other if this London
path permits us to part
here not thee short
of there?& the pattern
we wound in the streets
in oncoming traffic
—honestly, do you miss
me as I miss thee?
is it I am dead in part
these days? these days I
am a different shape
hullo sir, is it? take me
back on your( was ours
now your )train.
there is my family a
way from this city grey
muck & the tide
sneaks in; o goodness
I am alone, bring me to
your train & I will sleep
my whole way home &
this if is a nightmare,
call me awake at Thorpe.
so shall I sleep as sleep
is travel, moving, not
dying, & ungrey toward here.
Wednesday, February 26
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