Classic Poem

as usual I did not find him in cafes, the more dissolute atmosphere of a street superimposing a numbing imperfectness upon such peregrinations as twilight spontaneously by inevitable tiredness of flanging shop-girls impersonally affords furnished a soft first clue to his innumerable whereabouts violet logic of annihilation demonstrating from woolworthian pinnacle a capable millennium of faces meshing with my curiously instant appreciation exposed his hibernative contours, aimiable immensity impeccably extending the courtesy of five o'clock became the omen of his prescence it was spring by the way in the soiled canary-cage of largest existence. (when he would extemporise the innovation of muscularity upon the most crimson assistance of my comforter a click of deciding glory inflicted to the negative silence that primeval exposure whose electric solidity remembers some accurately profuse scratchings in a recently discovered cave, the carouse of geometrical putrescence whereto my invariably commendable room has been forever subject his Earliest word wheeled out on the sunny dump of oblivion) a tiny dust finely arising at the integration of my soul I coughed. ,naturally.