Classic Poem

(the phonograph's voice like a keen spider skipping

quickly over patriotic swill.
The, negress, in the, rocker by the, curb, tipping

and tipping, the flocks of pigeons. And the skil-

ful loneliness, and the rather fat
man in bluishsuspenders half-reading the
Evening Something
in the normal window. and a cat.

A cat waiting for god knows makes me

wonder if i'm alive (eye pries,

not open. Tail stirs.) And the. fire-escapes—
the night. makes me wonder if, if i am
the face of a baby smeared with beautiful jam

or

my invincible Nearness rapes

laughter from your preferable eyes