Clung to by a sweet smell.
The old fag as he drowns still acting
The little
girl
Who can come to no harm."
He still has his charm.
Her childless troubled soul quiets,
Glows like a flame in Vermeer;
Her startled little vices
Twinkle off like swallows.
"Don't cry, sweetheart.
Keep my kisses in your pocket
Till I get back. Oh, wouldn't you like to see
Ohio with me
On my trip!
But
if
I come back,
Who will put up with me?
Who will put me up?
Sunshine, I've no place to go,
And no place to go
Is easy enough to find."
On the desk
The paper is blank,
Freezing to sleep
4.
In the snow field cast by the lamp.
He tries to think;
Tries to remember the evening.
Faceless
Spondee and iamb couples kick by
In a conga-line.
The baker, the breadline,
The Communist and Capitalist .
