If Blue Is Dream What

The Little Mute Boy The Little Boy Was Looking For His Voice. (the King Of The Crickets Had It.) In A Drop Of Water The Little Boy Was Looking For His Voice. I Do Not Want It For Speaking With; I Will Make A Ring Of It So That He May Wear My Silence On His Little Finger In A Drop Of Water The Little Boy Was Looking For His Voice. (the Captive Voice, Far Away, Put On A Cricket's Clothes.) Translated By William S. Merwin

While The Poet Wrestles With The Horses On His Brain And The Sculptor Wounds His Eyes On The Hard Spark Of Alabaster, The Dancer Battles The Air Around Her, Air That Threatens At Any Moment To Destroy Her Harmony Or To Open Huge Open Empty Spaces Where Her Rhythm Will Be Annihilated.

The Wounds Were Burning Like Suns At Five In The Afternoon, And The Crowd Broke The Windows At Five In The Afternoon. Ah, That Fatal Five In The Afternoon! It Was Five By All The Clocks! It Was Five In The Shade Of The Afternoon!

I'm Satisfied. I Am Progressively Making My Life And My Name In The Surest And Purest Manner. If I Catch On In The Theater, As I Think I Will, All The Doors Will Gladly Open Wide For Me.

Everything's A Fan. Brother, Open Up Your Arms. God Is The Pivot.