Locate the madness, if you can.
In song it yearns for us. Chiefly, let it be
in every gentle resisting of the intelligence
that nameless thing, more tropical than topical,
where it eschews all manner of
such forms such as the perfect memo, for
instance, smug of some hapless muddled
middle in its very exemplariness. “A flower
in your beard before parting!”
2.
A plush carpet is a fine thing, it is fine for the feet
and it is good to deliver sparks by. This, and to pirouette
a fresh center every time can bring
no end of delight. But what wavers at the edges
with such soft siftings going on, although
scarcely anybody can be certain, sets the teeth on edge?
How do you classify your stars, and into what
constellation, before you set your brushes
down?
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