Gamut Sawdust -- 1938

while i lick my own body
as the day licks its own body
between heaven and lunch
a cannon shoots at a green soul
a cock on crystal crutches
jumps behind a bell that flits through the air
and whinnies like female wood

so there

there there
so i said there
or did i say so there
so there's the morning star

so there

so so
so i said so
or did i say there
there's the morning star

the tongue is useless for speech
you'd do better to use your feet for speaking
than your bald tongue
you'd do better to use your navel for speaking
the tongue is good
for knitting monuments
for playing third or fourth fiddle
for cleaning braided whales
for fishing for polar roots
but above all the tongue is good
for hanging out of the mouth
and drifting in the wind

the droning of the propellers of the moon
drive away the honey-sun
i close my eyes and i open my windows
i open my mouth and i close my door
the metallic harvest carillons in my head

the flesh on horseback
the blood on foot
the flower on plant
in the crumbs of stars
water the flames
with drops of fire
the echo of lead
melts in the retort

the mouse commands in front
impatient to leave at the other end of the hole
among the living pins
that are as green as a horse in spring
green as a noël's arch that has drunk its tree

a drop of man
a smidgen of woman
complete the beauty of the bouquet of bones
it's time for an aubade
in the fur of fire
the wind arrives on its four soles
like the horse on its four wheels
space has a vertical fragrance

space has a vertical fragrance
the wind arrives on its four soles
like the horse on its four wheels
it's time for an aubade
in the fur of fire
a drop of man
a smidgen of woman
complete the beauty of the bouquet of bones

a slice of earth quickly
a slice of fire quickly
for night is setting in
with its wick of blood

a stream comes up and sings and dances and drinks its pinkie
and leaves the doors and windows of happiness and unhappiness open
the clouds enter and attack point-blank the commas and exclamation points
and adorn the red hyphens between men and women

the little one leads the big one on a leash
the big one pokes up the little one's brain
neither one discolors
but with the coming of old age they grow fingers
ten fingers twenty fingers
what am i saying one hundred fingers and more
it would be better if their loud parts fell asleep
after the morrow of the round harvests
it would be better if their rose had gloves
it would be better if their bell boiled itself

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