Ken

Standing in the way of the truth. A white
to restaurants for Early Bird Specials.
snowdrops and crocuses might be fooled
What? What can you do?
Preface to the 1970 Edition
To pick up even the quickening of wind
into early blooming. Then, the inevitable blizzard
there's a pulpy orange-y smell from juice factories....
That patch of white at the very end of the road
Of tree-dividing sky finally comes down to
Come, swallows, it's good-bye.
Silence, are in his hand—birds in a snare;
And still my mind goes groping in the mud to bring
Bronze the sky, with no
Of Boyg of Normandy . . .
By bloody pool—rattling, gasping his last.
The surge of swirling wind defines
Two of us, Docteur and Madame Machin, who stand
Are muffled into silence that refuses